so there was this guy who came in for a few months to the bar where i work. he would come in alone, at first with his phone, and then with a book. he was nice and polite. he drank surly and jameson, ate cheesebread, whatever.
because i am not an idiot and he was not very covert about it, i knew that he was interested, in at least looking at me, as he did so often. he started showing up about once a week, and we got to chatting. he wasn't a bad looking guy and he seemed pretty cool from what i gathered. i had a boyfriend and so wasn't interested outside killing time during the slow time. sometimes, too, when it is busy, these tables are the best. like islands in a hectic storm. it's nice to stop off and know they will not ever need anything major, just more water every once in awhile.
so, one night he shows up with friends, who introduce themselves to me. weird, i don't even know the regular's name, so...we talked a bit more and at this point i am single. nothing happens,though, until a week later when one of his drunk female friends lays it on me that this guy likes me and has been coming in to see me and talks about me and whatever.
exciting, though, not creepy. he isn't a weirdo. just saying.
so, i give him my number, he loses it and makes valiant attempts to retrieve it. does. calls me. we hang out. and that's that. nothing. i am being my usual self. intense but goofy, so whatever. it's never me. he starts opening up about his previous pseudo wife and his very cool kid, and all the problems with money and commitment and suddenly i am very tired. and very glad he has to go do something so that i can just go home.
some men are such fantasists, such idealists, that they hold this weird daydream at the forefront of reality because that which is slightly out of grasp is more interesting than what is in one's arms, i guess. my being real exhausted him. we will be friends, but our equal illusions are shattered. his of Pygmalion, mine of Cyrano.
I try very hard not to take numbers from guys at work. it is not healthy, and there have been a few casualties.It could be worse. i could be dating a coworker.
because i am not an idiot and he was not very covert about it, i knew that he was interested, in at least looking at me, as he did so often. he started showing up about once a week, and we got to chatting. he wasn't a bad looking guy and he seemed pretty cool from what i gathered. i had a boyfriend and so wasn't interested outside killing time during the slow time. sometimes, too, when it is busy, these tables are the best. like islands in a hectic storm. it's nice to stop off and know they will not ever need anything major, just more water every once in awhile.
so, one night he shows up with friends, who introduce themselves to me. weird, i don't even know the regular's name, so...we talked a bit more and at this point i am single. nothing happens,though, until a week later when one of his drunk female friends lays it on me that this guy likes me and has been coming in to see me and talks about me and whatever.
exciting, though, not creepy. he isn't a weirdo. just saying.
so, i give him my number, he loses it and makes valiant attempts to retrieve it. does. calls me. we hang out. and that's that. nothing. i am being my usual self. intense but goofy, so whatever. it's never me. he starts opening up about his previous pseudo wife and his very cool kid, and all the problems with money and commitment and suddenly i am very tired. and very glad he has to go do something so that i can just go home.
some men are such fantasists, such idealists, that they hold this weird daydream at the forefront of reality because that which is slightly out of grasp is more interesting than what is in one's arms, i guess. my being real exhausted him. we will be friends, but our equal illusions are shattered. his of Pygmalion, mine of Cyrano.
I try very hard not to take numbers from guys at work. it is not healthy, and there have been a few casualties.It could be worse. i could be dating a coworker.
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