Longish lunch today with co-workers. That's the two people I like and one of the ones I (barely) tolerate. Tolerable Boy ended up picking the restaurant - a place he frequently frequents about twenty minutes from the office. Would nae have been my choice, but whatever. I was buying lunch for my friend today, as our almost year-long Sudoku Skins challenge wrapped up last week and he nipped me by ten.
We miraculously get the one available spot in the lot and climb down the stairs. Nice place, sorta rathskeller-y with prints of Dutch (mostly Van Gogh) paintings adorning the walls. Stonework, punched copper bar, and a den-like atmosphere are nice. They've got Stella Artois on tap - not my favorite beer, but certainly good enough for lunch. I'll down a couple along with my two small plates. The ceviche was excellent; the crab tostadas were not.
At the bar, a few feet from our table, sits a slender blonde in her thirties and a friend. Pretty, slightly lined face and the upper arms of a teenager. So, obviously, I'm going to be attracted. A couple of times during lunch we exchange glances* and she gives me a nice smile. Then I go back to my meal and oh-so-boring conversation about whether Tolerable Boy should buy a house on the edge of civilization (he shouldn't) and whether he should change the pool from salt to chlorine (duh) or put in a pool fence (duh, again). Of course, a couple of crones in the booth behind ours flame up a couple times, so I reek of smoke now. Thanks, crones!
Late in the meal, the blonde comes to our table and asks if she can borrow my phone. I haven't used my phone. She doesn't ask the table if any of us can spare a phone. She asks me if she can borrow my phone. I'm an accommodating fellow, so I say "sure". She promises not to call Paraguay (or was that Uruguay?) but a Cali number. What do I care? I've got plenty of minutes (no friends) and free long-distance.
"I'll have to take it upstairs. It has no bars. See?"
"Um..."
"It's okay. We know the owners."
"Yah, if you were going to be standing right here you could borrow my phone. Or if you're around when we leave and want to use it when we go upstairs, that'd be fine."
"Oh. Fine. We had some nice eye contact there, but if you don't trust me..."
(There was quite a bit of attitude to go with all this, but you get the idea.)
Alright. I'm no idjit. Either a) she wanted to borrow a phone and would eventually find another and make her call or b) she wanted to get my number but didn't have the balls to just ask and be rejected. Either way, I don't feel so bad. In fact, it's given me something to write (and something with which to bore y'all) this afternoon.
In retrospect, I screwed up. What I should have said instead of smiling dismissively when she got snippy was "you just smiled at me. That's not enough for me to let you walk off with my phone. Give me a blowjob and then we'll talk."
Crude, but to the point.
* Let's be clear: this is the harmless flirtation type stuff; I'm not about to cheat on my wife with some random chick at a bar on a Friday afternoon. I mean, it's afternoon for criminy's sake!
