Short Skirt

I’ve used aliases (bad ones) here for the sake of anonymity.

I got a phone call from a girl tonight (no, that’s not so unusual), and she wanted to see if I wanted to go to a bar with them (a few girls) that’s 25 minutes from my house. Granted, that doesn’t sound so bad, except for a few little factors:

1. The bar is filled with people I don’t know, generally younger than I am, and they all look like they just decided to start their frat/sorority here


2. I like the bars that are actually 3-4 minutes from my house


3. My buddy wanted to play pool, and again, that was a lot closer


4. The girls tend to flirt with guys a plenty, and I wind up twiddling my thumbs


5. I’m not taking them home

I told Sasha I was tired (I was) and that I was going to play pool with a buddy. All of a sudden, her friend Isabel gets on the phone, and asks me to come out. Again, I repeat my story, and she says to me, “Sasha told me to tell you that she’s going to wear a really short skirt tonight, and that you should come out.” Well, that’s dandy, except that I’ve definitely become the “nice guy” of their little group, and that’s not self-proclaimed, because I’ve been introduced that way.

For those of you who don’t know, a “nice guy” introduction is like a death sentence before a trial. I’m like a practical car for someone in their mid-life crisis, or a eunuch in the Bachelorette; I’m there, but serve no purpose. It’s neither good nor bad, it’s purgatory. It’s a question without an answer. It is, apparently, me.

This is all no big deal, because it’s important to have female friends to get objective perspectives, get a little womanly comfort, and to remind you that you’re not a leper. I realized this awhile back, and they’re nice girls, so I don’t protest.

The funny thing was, they thought a short skirt would make me more likely to come out, but it is useless bait. Even if I happened to be attracted to Sasha, going out because she had on a short skirt, realizing my identity to her, would be like banging my head into a brick wall to remember not to bang my head into the brick wall, and I need that like I need a hole in the head.

However, it is interesting that they thought it would sway me. And maybe it shows that they don’t exactly hold the highest opinion of me yet, which is precisely the reason I went out to play pool, and why I’m not sitting here feeling bad for a hot second.