The Tale That Started It All

J. was responding to this recap of my Friday night:

I'm out at Union Park, a West Sixth bar well known for pretty people. I'm with four or five girl friends and we're all sitting in a corner booth on the patio. Us girls are coming and going, talking on our phones, getting drinks, etc. I'm texting back and forth with one of my many men (we'll call them crushes, like junior high!) while catching up with one of the girls about her current boyfriend.

Out of nowhere, meaning I certainly hadn't made eye contact with the man and invited him over, a short-ish (I'm 5'9" and wearing platform sandals, almost everyone is short-ish) man comes and sits down next to me. He leans over and says, "We've been talking about you."

I look at him sort of blankly and he says, "Yeah, you don't know who we are, but we've been talking about you."

Like a curious cat I am obligated to respond, "Oh really?"

"Yeah, you're definitely above average."

I almost cough on my drink and furrow my brows at him. Apparently not noticing my displeasure at having been linked to a C+/B- on a report card, he continues, "Are you single?"

I smile, still a little stunned at my grade, and say, not at all untruthfully, "Depends on how you define single."

He laughs and says, "So you are single."

"No," I shake my head, "I have a few boyfriends." While the definition of boyfriend as exclusive precludes having a few, I do have a few men around that wouldn't like me advertising myself as single. And single is always relative to the attractiveness of the person asking. This called for being as taken as possible, without lying. I'm an honest person, after all.

He continues to be amazed by my apparent above-average beauty and says, "Wow, your confidence just makes you that much hotter."

"I thought I was only above average?"

"No, that means hot. I just didn't want to come over and say, 'you're hot' because every guy says that to you."

Needless to say, I refused his offer for a drink and sent him on his way. However, ten minutes later my friend and I hit the bar, and there he was! He insisted on buying us drinks, and my guy friend that came over as well. That, for the record, was impressive.

Alas, he went on to take himself back down when he told me that I had a body like a coke bottle, complete with the requisite curvy motions. This was unfortunate not only because it is from a rap song, but because I don't, in fact, have a body that looks anything like a coke bottle. I am a tall, lanky athlete without a particularly defined waist, and my boobs are pretty much just average (maybe above). So I'm way more box of mac-n-cheese than coke bottle...

Pity, his friend came over and said it was time for them to leave. Nothing like being out in Austin when you're above average...