Yes, tonight I happened to be out with a couple a friends celebrating a well-deserved, completely unexpected win for my Carolina Gamecocks. Two friends, actually…one of my best friends and her fiancé (who also is my cousin).
We were walking to a different location and ran into this drunk college kid who proceeded to dub my friend and I ‘sexcretaries’. What’s a sexcretary you may ask? I’d assume it’s a secretary who makes sex appointments and orders lunch sex and things like that.
Apparently, that’s what we looked like.
See for yourself.
I guess it’s the glasses. I don’t know.
Also, tonight we were at this one bar, Flying Saucer. It’s a cool place. We sat at the bar and ordered a couple of beers, nothing fancy, just having some good ole catching up time. This rather drunk but cute man dude person plops down beside me. He starts chatting all of us up. He was hilarious. Total breeze to talk to. He had such a nice looking face. As he was beginning to leave, he asked for my number.
About fifteen minutes earlier, he stood up. Except he was missing about 6 more inches from the top of his head. He was registering about 5’6″.
I’m 5’9″. You may be the greatest person in the world but height is a huge deal. I’m sorry. I know that makes me a horrible person but that’s the way my cookie crumbles.
So, I knew good and well he was shorter than me. But when someone asks for your number, I feel so weird saying no. If he had been a creeper or sketchball, then by all means, I would not have given out my number. But he seemed like a genuinely good guy who wants to take a gal out on a date.
But yeah, short man has my number and it makes me sad that he wasn’t just 4 more inches taller. Maybe I’ll buy him some heeled boots.