Charming, but single

When I was in college, I hung out with a large group of girls. For three semesters in a row, we went to the same bar on Thursday and Friday nights. (Consistently. Like, they should have charged us rent.)

It’s a beautiful night and we were sitting on the outside deck of the bar enjoying our favorite Ladies Night drink — watered down vodka and cranberry with a generous splash of lime. (Free, of course.)

I was feeling a bit tipsy (shocking, I know!) and I spied a cute boy across the deck. Maybe it was the cheap, bottom-shelf vodka that made me feel bold and sexy, but I decided I was going to go hit on him. (Very out of character for me at the time.)

The ladies at the table were about to light their cigarettes (because we smoked and drank together like a pack of addicted wolves) and I announced that I was going to go flirt a light off of the cute boy (who was smoking a cigarette) and his friend.

“Put your lighters away,” I demanded.

I walked over, and in my best drunk-drooling-22-year-old-girl voice, I said, “Excuse me, I’m S. My friends and I were wondering if you could spare a light. We’re all out.”

As I said this, I motioned to the table where my friends were sitting. As the cute boys looked over, I felt embarrassment come over me.

My damn friends were making a huge show of lighting their cigarettes, with four damn lighters on the table.

“It looks like they’ve got in under control,” the cutie said, looking a bit annoyed.

I lowered my head in shame and sulked back over to my friends, who were all too pleased with themselves.

Bitches.