Magickman
09-27-2009, 10:12 AM
It was. It truly was one of those nights.
I had been flirting around, on the Internet, and looking for someone to go dancing with me.
That didn't quite work, so I made a blind date to meet a woman at a local tavern.
On the phone, I told her that I would be wearing my boots with 4" heels, and that I would be dressed up.
She didn't believe me. She didn't believe I would wear heels, tights, and a skirt, or that I had a brightly hued manicure.
"You're not serious," she said. "Yes I am," I replied, but apparently without sufficient conviction, to convince her.
Anyway, we met at the tavern, and she almost fell out of her chair, when she saw me.
The poor dear simply could not get past my outfit; the heels, the nails, the skirt, the tights. She was unable to wrap her mind around it.
"I thought you were joking," she told me. "I could never date someone like you."
"You're on a date with me right now," I said. "No," was her retort. "This is not a date."
OK. Then it was an undate. Yes. An undate it was.
She ditched me, shortly after, and left me to my own devices.
It was a rare evening of live music at the tavern. The place was soon packed. And the crowd was mostly women.
My heels and outfit were serving their intended purpose as a chick magnet. Lots of the women were flirting with me.
There was one, a very tall brunette, who stopped me to say, and I quote, "You're so cute. You're so cute." Unfortunately, she was there with her husband.
I did get to dance with a number of the gals, and it was a good time, late into the evening.
It was, in fact, one of those nights.
I had been flirting around, on the Internet, and looking for someone to go dancing with me.
That didn't quite work, so I made a blind date to meet a woman at a local tavern.
On the phone, I told her that I would be wearing my boots with 4" heels, and that I would be dressed up.
She didn't believe me. She didn't believe I would wear heels, tights, and a skirt, or that I had a brightly hued manicure.
"You're not serious," she said. "Yes I am," I replied, but apparently without sufficient conviction, to convince her.
Anyway, we met at the tavern, and she almost fell out of her chair, when she saw me.
The poor dear simply could not get past my outfit; the heels, the nails, the skirt, the tights. She was unable to wrap her mind around it.
"I thought you were joking," she told me. "I could never date someone like you."
"You're on a date with me right now," I said. "No," was her retort. "This is not a date."
OK. Then it was an undate. Yes. An undate it was.
She ditched me, shortly after, and left me to my own devices.
It was a rare evening of live music at the tavern. The place was soon packed. And the crowd was mostly women.
My heels and outfit were serving their intended purpose as a chick magnet. Lots of the women were flirting with me.
There was one, a very tall brunette, who stopped me to say, and I quote, "You're so cute. You're so cute." Unfortunately, she was there with her husband.
I did get to dance with a number of the gals, and it was a good time, late into the evening.
It was, in fact, one of those nights.