About last night

I went out last night. Not out out, just a little out. I had to return Earl, got another DVD, went to the grocery store to potentially flirt with the produce guy to no avail, bought some pears and lettuce and shrimp anyway, decided to go out for a beer. One. Because of the shrimp. In the car.

 

I was wearing grocery store clothes and my khaki jacket, plus left over make up from the morning. Stunning.

 

The last time I went there was with P in the Spring, one of the last times we saw each other, and I had not been there for over a year before that. I am not a regular.

 

The bar seating was almost full, so I sat in one of the two only open stools, the closest one, between a guy and a woman. The guy on my left was listening to the conversation on the side of the woman to my right, but he was not really talking. I wasn't sure if he was with a different woman on the other side of him, but he didn't have a ring on.

 

Do you know how many years it as taken me to even think to look for a ring?

 

The woman on the other side of the guy asked for the TV to go to sports and I gave her encouragement, which I guess gave him encouragement. Turns out he's a nice guy, nice enough looking, too. He went to the bathroom and my eyes followed him. I realized how broad his shoulders are and I'm not even a shoulders girl. Very nice. Great tush, too. He's a western rodeo guy. Literally. Simple, but smart. Introverted, but conversational. Not suave or flashy, just genuine. Nice.

 

Another guy on the other side of the woman that was sitting next to him by default reaped the attention of the woman who I inadvertently bumped. I'm not sure he was happy for the transition. She had a waddle. That other guy went to the bathroom. I was looking at the TV on the opposite side of where he'd sat when he was coming back and he caught my eye as he returned from the bathroom. He winked. Shocked, I automatically sent him a questioning look, wondering if I saw that right. In return, he nodded, almost imperceptibly. I went bug-eyed. Literally. Ballsy guy, he winked at me behind the back of the woman he was talking to and the man I was talking to. He then looked away and then looked back at me. I saw him in my periphery as I continued to look past him, digesting that wink. I think he liked that I was stunned. He wasn't ugly, but maybe if he had been more handsome... I don't know. He's most probably a schmuck.

 

I'm not a bar fly type. Unfamiliar language and signals. I don't pick up men or do bar flirting stuff. Well, once. In over twenty five years.

 

The guy next to me and I talked a lot. I could tell he was comfortable. He got another beer, but he was walking home nearby, not driving. I could have walked; this restaurant with a bar is near where we walk with Norma and Ben many nights and the guy lives just on the opposite side. I like a guy who worries about a DWI.

 

We agreed that we're pissed that our exes have and don't deserve storybook lives or families. He has two kids, young teenagers, but still fresh and naive, or so he still thinks. He moved here because his ex moved here and he wanted to be near his kids. I told him that I was engaged, am no longer, tried dating, felt too tied down, so have given up for a while. He said he has not had a date for the almost two years he's lived here. He's not the outgoing, pick up type, but I'll admit he's a cute, quiet but not wordless, clean cut mountain man type. As an odd metaphor, perhaps he's a Western geek versus a city geek, the latter translating into being an IT type.

 

I had two beers. More than my intended one. It was time to go get the shrimp in the fridge. I had not even asked the guy his name, but he asked if I would take his number. He asked the bartender for a pen and I felt the eyes of all the bar patrons on me, him, his hand, the pen, the napkin. It wasn't a noisy enough bar.

 

I thought how polite that was, offering me his number instead of asking for mine, awkward as it was. He's the gentleman type, maybe too traditional, too western. But I took his number, perhaps doing so for the first time in my life. He never even asked me my name, probably too self conscious about the dance of giving me his phone number in front of the whole bar.

 

I don't know what to do with his number. It is still crammed in my purse. I understand now why guys don't call. I get it. You second guess the realness, as if we're trained to not trust getting along with or connecting with someone in an odd place, to not expect goodness, so it must have been fleeting and imagined. You don't want to go and ruin something that was enjoyable in that little, encapsulated moment. Maybe I should watch Swingers again.

 

He left at the same time as me. Outside, he walked one way and I went to my car the other. I offered him a ride, as he was barely out of my way, but he wanted to walk. Remember, he's not the suave, pick up type.

 

But I think the whole bar thought he was. Telephone number. Following me out. I guess I have a reputation now and the whole bar will be winking next time.

 

I should bring Mormon Norma. (You should really be laughing now.)

 

 

 

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