There are those days in each of our lives that we look back on and think wow, so that was reality. It seems fairly quaint and desirable in a way, until that day is our today. My today ended with a trip to the local pub and an acknowledgement I could happily live without. Even as I write this, I am drunk and each word is a struggle to spell correctly or precede with correct grammar. I hate that I am writing this now, instead of blissfully and irresponsibly fading off to sleep or rapturously losing myself in the arms of a nameless, faceless, hard body. Adulthood sucks and its reality comes even when you don’t want it to.
After a night with the girls, I should have been happy to drift off to sleep in my happy, comfortable bed, but instead I was jonesing to go out. Off I went, heading to my local pup at 12:30am with 90 minutes to spare before bar time closed me down. I did not have an agenda, beyond wanting to be social and among people. My bar has my favorite game so I got a drink and started to play. Within minutes random number one started talking to me and I must admit he was amusing in a totally unobtrusive way. I told Random Guy that I was married and my husband was currently in Iraq.
The reaction this has on potential dirtbags is always worth it. They suddenly back off, express their support of the armed services, tell me about their cousin/uncle/brother who is currently serving and how much they admire the military, etc. Then they inevitably ask for my number or try to make a move. So here I am, at a bar, lonely, buzzed, toenail throbbing and wanting to fall off (see side effect of hypothyroidism) and just needing a little human contact. Why is it that you think it’s okay to hit on me regardless of my repeated assertions that my husband will not look kindly on your advances, nor do I?
Granted, I am a big girl in the real world and shit happens. Even so, let me assure you that no, I do not want to just hang with you while you do coke in your car. Also, I am going to have to say no to calling your parents and telling them that you are great and I’ll be there for Thanksgiving. I am sure that my desire to play Buck Hunter African Safari somehow fueled your soulmate barometer, but maybe you’re just another drunk asshole and I am really just that cool. So no, I don’t want to do coke with you, no, I don’t want to share my five dollar Buck Hunter buy in with you, and fuck no, I’m pretty cool without you hugging me.
Thanks for wishing my husband well. Thanks, for wishing me well. Thanks awfully, for wishing everything we ever do together well, but I’m going to have to take my chances on just not being a fucking idiot and hanging out with you any longer. In the north, when you aren’t interested it’s a fairly simple procedure, but here in the south wanting someone to just shut the fuck up and leave you alone is pretty much a process. Sadly, between my drunkenness, my sadness at missing my husband, and my toenail which feels a lot like someone might be standing on it or prying it up with pliers, the only thing I’ve been able to concentrate on is how much I miss being part or a twosome.
Yes, I am good at being alone. Yes, I am cool with being independent. Yes, I can handle just about anything, but I’d much rather have my husband or a friend back me up. Maybe it’s age or maybe just tiredness, but I no longer care enough to keep you on your toes. I just want to be real and for you to leave me be. Is it complicated, sure it is, but that’s life baby, welcome to it. I won’t do coke, I won’t flirt, I won’t sacrifice anything to know you. I’m just here and if you want to talk to me, you’ll figure out how to be a part of that reality.
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