Every once in a while, I'm a complete uncool idiot. I lose my smooth factor, my charm, and I burn...hard. This past weekend was filled with all the signs of summer. BBQs, sidewalk cafes complete with great friends, wonderful conversation (gossip), and tons of liquor. Oh and I spent most of the holiday weekend intoxicated...highly intoxicated. It's safe to say all of my fine tuning was in complete disarray especially the other night when my friends and I set off to tackle the city. We stopped at a birthday party and drank. Then we hit a bar and drank. After that we grabbed some rum from a liquor store and headed to yet another booze sponsored event where we....yes, drank. So when Hottie McHotterton sauntered up to me, and girls, he truly sauntered, I was certifiably on my way to being trashed. We'll call Hottie McHotterton PT for personal trainer, because that was his profession and good got damn his body. I'm such an idiot for this one. Okay, back to the story. So PT told me he just had to inform me of how beautiful I was, which was kind of him to say the least, but I knew it was a line. Despite that, we chatted a bit and he gave me his number. After that, I got back to the business of getting smashed with my friends.
Much much later, my girls and I reconvened with PT and his friends. They were all headed to their apartment and then a club downtown. Were we in? Absolutely. So off we went, however, somehow lines were crossed and PT seemed to be quite interested in one of my friends as well. So I said no problem and kept it moving, however his friend seemed to think he'd missed his calling as a Private Investigator and stated to everyone that I was clearly irritated. I don't even know how he concluded this given that I was just standing there, but I guess he was flexing his Sherlock muscles or something. So, PT starts hammering on about how I can't possibly be upset and that the entire time he was talking to my friend, he was talking about me. I might have actually answered with a shrug, which was probably very convincing, I'm sure. We made it to the car, hopped in and sped off into the night despite the small tiff. Immediately I started BBMing my friend sitting in the front seat. I may have said a few choice words about the night, how I hated dudes, how silly they were. This was all directed, though, at a guy I used to date who had the audacity to think I was still interested in him in that way and basically offered me an indecent proposal when I ran into him at the party. I definitely had a small rant on BBM. I also might've said that PT's shirt was just a tad too tight.
The next day, as I was nursing a hangover by drinking more, my friend said I should totally call PT. I had reservations based on the fact that one, it was the very next day and two, he seemed incredibly miffed when we got out of the car at their apartment-we opted out of the club once we took stock of how incredibly drunk we were. Instead we dropped the boys, went to McDonald's and consumed a gross amount of calories. But then I recalled PT's utter HOTNESS and picked up the phone. At first, PT sounded happy to hear from me. I think he even called me Sweetheart. Then the situation made a drastic left turn. He asked why I was calling if I "hated" him. I let him know in my most charming way that there were very few people I hated, what was he talking about? His response?
Well, based on your BBM conversation with you friend, I'd say you hated me...and my shirt.
I. Was. Blown. How on earth had he seen my BBM screen?! And more importantly what kind of sleuthy crap were he and his friends on?! My friend and I came to the conclusion, later, that he must've seen her screen over her shoulder since he was sitting in the seat behind her, but at the current moment, I stuttered some sort of excuse, I might have even said something about the guy I actually was talking about when I said I hated dudes. PT stopped me and let me know he didn't need a play by play because he didn't really care that much anyway. Well, um, okay. I told him to take care, swiftly deleted his number, and then picked my jaw up off the ground. Brilliantly done, B, brilliant.
That bitch stole my line,