I guess the old adage saying, 'you have the most fun when you least expect it' is true (Is that an old adage? It's very possible I just made it up). On Friday night I was mere moments from calling it a night at the dark hour of 8:30 pm after an exhausting day of ballet class, pretending that I like ex-bosses, baby-sitting melt downs and the evil glares of old ladies on the bus. Then, standing at the entrance of the subway I called B one last time. And for the first time all day, she answered (it's not that she has poor cell phone manners, like some people I know, its that she was working as a nurse and contrary to everything I've ever seen on ER you aren't allowed to whip the cell out in the middle of a code).
Anyway, dressed like a 12 year old with no make up on and pony-tail hair, I had quite the night. I'll spare you most details. Needless to say, I was v. drunk thanks to Bethany not liking her Texas-sized margarita and my parents raising me not to waste anything, particularly when it's made with alcohol. At one point I was surrounded by five guys while I danced to my theme song (I Wanna Dance with Somebody by Whitney Houston, no judging) and while that isn't on my list of things I want to do in 1001 days I feel like it should have been because it was pretty awesome and life affirming. Then at the end of the night (and by the end I mean when the kicked us out when the bar closed at 4 am--seriously) we're walking out and a tallish guy stops me to read my shirt. He laughs as it says "Let me be your sugar baby," which is cute and clever, just like me. Here is a paraphrase of the rest of our conversation.
Him: Oh man, if only you were five inches taller
Me: Uh what?
Him: I'm a physical therapist
Me: Uh what?
Him: I'm a physical therapist, having to bend down and kiss you all the time would hurt my back.
Me: Uh what?
...Then I walked out not quite understanding what had just happened. If there is one part of my body I'm NOT self concious about it WAS my height as I've always thought the pocket-sized thing kind of went with my personality. And if he was just trying to be polite and brush me off, which was also weird because I was obviously walking out, it didn't require a conversation, just a glance at the shirt and a laugh and everyone is on their way. However, he did give me the best story of the weekend which is more than I can say for the many boys I "danced" with that evening. Lads of NYC, I think we need to stop with the BET and just embrace the fact we shouldn't hang out on the dance floor.
1- I have horrid cell phone etiquette.
2- My Friday night was similar, in that I was ready to call it quits at seven, until my cousin called.
3- That is still the best comment ever.
4- Short people rule. And should probably not wear capris.
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