After a couple of hours, we moved to another local
haunt...The Monkey...as it was Songwriters Night, and we wanted to be able
to sit outside on that beautiful, temperate night...have a cocktail...listen to
some live music...and visit. Our Cosmos were converted to a Cape Cod...and we
had to settle for little squatty glasses with more cranberry with vodka.
Anyway...
Along comes a drunk, swaggering guy in a baseball cap...with
his eye on the table. He has his eye on the table...I have my eye on him.
Coming up behind Miss Jules...he puts his hand on her shoulder, and
says..."Mind if I sit down next to you?"...(squatting down just
enough for the slide into the picnic table position.) Anyway...
"NO." Loud with finger pointing straight at him.
"What?"
"I said...NO! Move on. NOW."
It had happened...I had finally rounded that corner in the
single world where I just didn't care about being so nice. The beautiful
married ladies at the table just laughed. It was like I had become the
self-appointed table guard dog. So, I told them exactly what Sunny had told me
several years back about being out in a bar.
"Cherry, you can't be nice. Don't make eye contact.
Don't smile. Ignore them. I was out there a long time, and you have no idea
what men in bars are like. Don't be nice to them. Tell them to go away, and
mean it!"
And, she was right. I hadn't spent time in nightclubs or
bars my entire life. I was married young, had a couple of kids, had a crazy
career...so, when I became single...I didn't really consider hanging in bars
part of my world. For me, it's always been about being with friends and family.
Bars just aren't my thing.
"You aren't used to the bar scene. You're going to have
to put away that sweet, conversational Miss Cherry persona...and become a
bitch. Period. Cherry…be a bitch. It’s the only thing they’ll understand. If
you are nice or polite, they will use it against you. Remember…be a bitch.”
The next morning, I’m talking to Sunny. I just had to tell
of my breakthrough. I was so proud.
“Sunny!!!!! You’re not going to believe this! (I tell her
about yelling at the guy at the bar to back off my friend) It’s official…I have
become you.”
She starts laughing. So, I tell her about my recent
experiences of trying to work on my laptop at a local restaurant, as I was tired of the
Starbucks scene. Unfortunately, being accessible is sometimes confused for
being available. Starbucks was sitting on my last nerve. So, I plugged in and
hooked onto WiFi. Love those Sweet Potato Chips and Salsa.
“I’ve never thought of the bar at this restaurant as an actual ‘bar’…but
here I was…researching Italian platters and Georgian antiques…and the seat next
to me went into rotation. I’d even put my crap in the seat…and they’d move it.”
And it did. And I didn’t get it at the time. “What are you
working on? I love your hair. You’re a hottie. You have nice teeth. Look at
your big, brown eyes. Can I touch your hair? Do you need a back rub, you’re
working so hard? I like your necklace, I like the way it drops down. Can I buy
you a drink? Do you live near here? (DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR) Why? I love your
hair. I bet men tell you about your hair and how they want to pull it? Give me your hand, I want to look at your
palm. You have small, pretty hands and wrists…can I hold your hand? Will you go
out to dinner with me right now? How about tomorrow? Why are you packing it up?
Are you leaving? Where are you going? Can I walk you out to your car? (NO) If I
go get a bottle of wine, will you share it with me on this beautiful night? We
can sit on my back deck and watch the moon. (NO NO NO NO NO NO NO) It’s alright…the
best people wait.”
I look at the bartender and ask…”What the Hell? This is a
restaurant.” He replies…”Yes it is. But, this one is turning more into a bar.
If you need me, just tug on your ear, and I’ll get rid of them. I do it all the
time.” It was then that I really learned…you can’t be a single woman sitting at
a bar…and not have them come out of the woodwork. Hammerheads. You can be
working…it just doesn’t matter. You are at a bar…and they are going to hit on
you. Period. Anyway…
“Sunny, I was you last night. I saw him coming and let him
have it. It was like scolding a dog. Matter of fact, he was a dog - mangy,
drunk dog. You know…if I had a squirt bottle…I would have squirted him on the
nose.”
“Cherry!!! That’s a great idea!”
“I think it’s my million dollar idea…kind of like the pet
rock…”Miss Cherry’s ‘BAD DOG’ Dating Squirt Bottle”…in red, of course. You can
carry it in your purse, and pull it out and squirt them on the nose and say…”GO
AWAY! BAD DOG!” And, when they are sitting there with the water on their nose…squirt
them again…just for good measure.
I think I’m on to something here. Best idea I’ve had all
day. Gonna have to look into that, maybe start merchandising these squirt
bottles…I’ll make a cool mil…and then pull the trigger on that trip to Southern
France I’ve been needing for about 6 months now.
I just love it when a plan comes together.
No comments:
Post a Comment