Although the title of this post would nicely sum up my love life when I was in my 20s, it's actually the name of a German beer I tried last night. Bill picked it up during our most recent beer run. He gave it to me to try, but I think he probably would have liked it more than I did. It was bitter, but not all that interesting. I don't really like bitter stuff anyway. Bill does. Maybe that's why we're still married.
Bitter Single Lady...
This morning, after having consumed the Bitter Single Lady brew last night, I was looking at Facebook's On This Day feature. I know... I have written in the past that I need to quit looking at that because it sometimes brings up memories I'd rather forget. Such was the case this morning when I found an old post from January 5, 2013. I had written this.
Just had a flashback to an unfortunate incident at The Library tavern in Williamsburg, VA that happened back in my single days... Can't say I miss being single.
A couple of people asked me to elaborate, so I did. Now I will elaborate for you lucky readers, too.
In the late 1990s, I worked as a waitress at a nice restaurant in Williamsburg, Virginia. Sometimes, though rarely for me, my colleagues would hang out together after work. After a dinner shift on a Wednesday night, a bunch of us decided to visit The Library, which is a bar on the main drag in Williamsburg. They usually had karaoke on Wednesday nights and, if you read this blog regularly, you may know that I love my karaoke.
That night, the guy who ran the karaoke show was in a foul mood. He decided to play dance music instead running karaoke because he said he'd rather watch women dance than hear them sing.
This song brings back unfortunate memories.
As Christina Aguilera's "Genie In A Bottle" blared over the sound system, a couple of my friends from work got up to dance. I didn't join them because I only dance when I'm really hammered, which I try not to be in public unless I have a designated driver. Since I was single at the time, I was being careful about not drinking much that night.
As I watched my colleagues gyrate to the music, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to face a young guy holding a bottle of crappy, mass-produced, American beer. He said, "Hey, do you know if she's here with anyone?" He was referring to my slim, pretty, blonde friend and colleague, who was dancing suggestively a few feet away from us.
Now, it wasn't like we were all there together or anything. We just all happened to go to the bar at the same time and were friendly because we all knew each other. I didn't actually know if my friend had come alone or even if she was dating anyone. Moreover, her love life was something I didn't really want to be involved with at all.
In retrospect, I wish I'd had the presence of mind to tell the guy "Why don't you ask her? I'm not her pimp." But I think I just shrugged and walked away from him. I was kind of shocked by the question.
The guy was basically saying to me, "Hey, I don't think you're cute, but your friend is hot and I want to get with her. And I'm hoping you'll help me hook up, even though you don't know me from Adam and for all you know, I could be a rapist."
That incident was insulting on many levels. Basically, the guy had spotted my friend dancing across a crowded room, thought she was a hottie, noticed she was drinking and, I assume, wanted to get her drunker, take her home, and then what? And he wanted me to help him accomplish that end. I wonder what made him think I'd be motivated to help him on his quest to get some? Did he think I was hoping she'd say no so maybe he'd be desperate enough to ask me out? Maybe he just thought I was a nice, "helpful" person, even though in my 20s, I really was a bitter single lady. Or maybe he figured I was her cock blocking friend and, to get to her, he had to get through me. Who knows?
Of course, I don't know what she thought of him. For all I know, she might have thought of me as a vagina blocking friend!
I can look back on this incident philosophically now. In a way, I'm kind of glad most guys never found me particularly "hawt". It must be exhausting to have to deal with horny dickheads with no social skills constantly hitting on you because they think you're sexy and they want to get laid. I've never had many incidents with those types of guys. The few men that have ever approached me (in person, anyway), by and large, were respectful and intelligent people. In the long run, I think they are the better ones to get to know.
I will admit, though, that as a bitter single lady in my 20s, supposedly at my youngest and prettiest, it kind of made me sad that I couldn't get picked up in a bar by a horny cretin. I mean, I definitely wouldn't have wanted to go out with that guy, but it sort of hurt my feelings that he asked me about my friend's availability. I wonder how he would have felt if some woman tapped him on the shoulder at a bar and asked him if his buddy was "with" anyone. I bet that would have been like a sharp blow to the testicles for a guy like him.
Long live my 40s. Fortunately, I ended up doing okay despite not being "hawt". Now to find a beer called Contented Married Lady.