Over a YOLO dinner at our local eatery, LaBarake, I was telling my mom about my night out with friends. (Side note, definitely do check out LaBarake – it’s a great place, great ambiance with a live DJ & amazing food – bonus, the building used to be a fire station!)
Here’s broadly what I told my mom.
The night prior, 2 high school friends and I met up for drinks. It had been the first time we were truly hanging out since graduation – we weren’t even that close in high school to begin with.
One of the guys left a bit after midnight because he actually had to wake up early in the morning while the other friend and I stayed behind enjoying our autonomous work life a bit too much.
We ended up closing the bar, then going to grab a burger at the 24-hour deli next to my house (conveniently named Miami so that every time people ask me where I am and I answer Miami, they’re all confused).
We came back home, slept for literally 4 hours, woke up, and talked. For the longest time. 14 hours, to be exact. It was fun.
So, back to our yummy dinner. I showed my mom a picture of him, she reacted by saying: “he’s a serious, good-looking boy. So how do you feel about him?”
She wonders if there’s anything else.
Earlier during the day, I had sent over a snapchat of him to my BFFAB and another friend; the former answered: “who’s the sexy dude,” the latter told me to “sit on his face.” (That perplexed me – why would anyone do that? Kind of don’t want to kill anyone on account of asphyxiation.) A common friend randomly told me that “he’s a good guy.”
Everyone proceeded to ask me about how I felt – but why would you ask a girl who has slept less than 4 hours in the last 36 hours? My only loyalty is to my bed at this point. And why was it important how I felt anyway? Did I need to feel anything?
I asked my mom, “My high school friend? Isn’t that virtually impossible?”
She points out the BFFAB and the BFF started dating years (read: decades) into their friendship. My mom, ever the one to think that I’m going to end up alone, tells me to give it a go. “You talked for so long, clearly you get along.”
“He talks a lot, I talk a lot. It just happened.” I rebutted.
She dismissed me and told me to try. “Encourage him. But let him take the lead – guys need to feel like they’re in control. It’s a bit macho, but it’s how they are. You just need to slightly push him. Be feminine. Be smart. Be coy. And be feminine.”
Meanwhile I’m chugging my pint of beer. Minus two big points – one, that seemed like a slightly outdated point of view, but it did ring true in part; and two, I never actually did give a thought to trying anything with him – she made me reflect on those last 24 hours.
Cue flashbacks. Be feminine.
While looking at the menu at the deli, my friend mentioned how his ex-girlfriends all seemed to have some of the same characteristics, in particular they happened to either be vegetarian or vegan.
I had just ordered a double hamburger and when the waitress asked, I told her to bring me a biiiiig portion of fries. Truth be told, I expected her to just add a couple of fries to the portion that came with the burger. She brought back an entire plate of fries – thankfully, still have not finished them a day later.
But very happily devoured (half of) that double hamburger. I think it kind of traumatized him – but at the same time, I like food. I don’t know who you hang out with (actually I kind of do), but nah bro.
It was super hot that day, so I wore a booby shirt that I’ve only ever worn in Ireland because I never had the confidence to be so out there in Canada. But I didn’t care – I was seeing high school friends, right?
I’ve known them since I was 12, what does it matter what I wear. Fairly sure at some point during the night, I said something along the lines of: “Omg my boobs are so out there. Hahahaha Boobiiiiiieessss. It’s okay, it’s just you.”
Be coy, Ruxandra.
I talked like I gave no craps. Being so tired all my filters went out the door. I shared things that I’ve only shared with close friends. Definitely told him some embarrassing stories. Also mentioned that I like being crazy with guys I start dating so they know what they’re getting themselves into because my goal is to find someone who can handle that. (Crazy = effectively very random.) (Wait a second… No one needs to point out the obvious here.)
We swapped Bumble accounts. We talked about dates we've had in the last weeks.
The most demure thing I did while around him was the fact that I chose to wear jeans instead of sweatpants and paired that with an innocent-looking shirt, in an attempt to redeem myself.
I had been nothing close to feminine, proper and interesting.
So now I know. I know why my ass is still single.
My mom asked me when I’d be seeing him again. I shrugged and drank that beer.
Well... here's something to lift up everyone's spirits. Dean, once again, did it right.