My boyfriend and I are not as codependent as normal couples, so often on weekends we go out separately. He hangs out with huge groups of friends in random places; I go to bars and clubs with my girls. We’re both laid-back, so we don’t really think too much about how insanely trusting that is of us. Or perhaps we do think about it and it makes it that much sweeter when we meet up at 6am (because our partying always lasts that long. We’re not very good at going to bed before the sun comes up on weekends.)
Last night, while I was out with my girls, I got hit on like whoa. I adore the attention, but because I don’t want to lead anyone on, shortly into the conversation I inform the men that I have a boyfriend. And last night was a deluge of douchebags who could not have cared less about my taken status. One guy actually said, “I have a girlfriend, it’s cool.” As if two wrongs totally made a right.
We then talked at length about how he’s an asshole and has some issues he needs to work out. I drunkenly ended up giving him my number so that we could have counseling sessions. (Drunk me thinks she is a psychologist who can fix anyone’s problems.) Maybe half an hour later, as my friend and I were outside talking to new men who didn’t care that I had a boyfriend, the one with the girlfriend called me. And I answered the phone with, “Who is this? I don’t know who this is. I don’t know you.” And then I hung up. Because in the thirty minutes, I’d literally forgotten who he was.
Another guy wrote his number on a napkin and gave it to me. Which was nostalgically cute. He was also totally rocking this ridiculous porn star mustache. He was actually super sweet and once I told him that I had a boyfriend, he did stop hitting on me, which was refreshing. Except that he insisted I should keep his number. In case, I ever became single.
Tonight I think I’ll go out with my boyfriend. It’s a lot easier to brush off men when there is living proof of my boyfriend standing right next to me.