And That is How You Know You're Old

Friday night I found myself somewhere I hadn't been in a while, in a bar that was packed with those looking to see and be seen. Girls were showing a lot of skin. Guys spent longer getting ready for their night out than I had. As you walked past people, they automatically looked you up and down. It took FOR.EVER to get a drink at the bar.

While a place like this has never been my favorite, a few years ago I could tolerate it - maybe even suggest it on a rare occasion. But it had the makings for fun night as I was with a friend whose company I enjoy and a few acquaintences (and a few of their acquaintences) who were content with enjoying each other's company without trolling for members of the opposite sex.

Or so I thought.

It started with an "innocent" question by one of the acquaintences of an acquaintence (I don't even remember his name, obviously he made quite an impression during the introductions...). "Do you have a boyfriend?" I should have thought quicker. I should have lied. But I told the truth, I said no. He made some awkward small talk and asked me to save a dance for him. Now keep in mind this isn't a dance club. There was a small contingent of dancers up near the stage and pop music was being played in between sets of an irish band, but dancing was not the main attraction. Personally, I wasn't there to dance.

The night progresses and people get more drunk, except me because I am driving. I don't see Boy Whose Name I Don't Remember for awhile, and then all of a sudden he is next to me, with his arm around my shoulder. I should mention that I am NOT a hugger. I like my personal space. I'll give you a hug if something really great happens to you, or really awful. And the hug will be genuine, but otherwise, there is no need to wrap your arms around me! I shake free from his grasp as he full on starts to hit on me. He is laying it on thick and I am obviously not interested. Not interested to the point where he calls me out on it, and starts to making comments in an attempt to make me feel guilty about my lack of interest. I mumble something about still getting over someone (true) and walk away. As we are ushered out of the bar after last call, he is still pestering me about hanging out sometime in the future.

Seriously. Just because I am SINGLE and in a *gasp* BAR, doesn't mean I am down with being hit on incessantly, and then, on top of that, being made to feel guilty about not reciprocating the "feelings." HELLO?!?!

I wasn't being a bitch to him solely because I was not interested. It really wasn't all that personal, or it wasn't until he took it too far. In fact, there was another guy, who if I had to guess, was a bit interested in me as well. Again, I'm not interested (kinda still wrapped up in that whole Boston thing, even if he won't talk to me), but this guy had an actual conversation with me. He knows my name, my thesis topic, what I like to do in my free time. And actually, that is why he might sorta have a thing for me (although he may not, what do I know) - because he likes to do the things I like to do. Because he asked me intelligent questions and I responded intelligently. Because I was acting like myself due to him making me feel comfortable.

And that was flattering. Even if I am not interested.

Boy Whose Name I Don't Remember should take a lesson from this guy if he wants to find himself a lady.

Needless to say, you won't be finding me at one of those bars again anytime soon.

(And just how do you know you are old? When you wake up in the morning after just two beers and feel like you have a hangover because you stayed out too late! True story.)