Charming, but single

Attention Women:

If you look in the mirror and you have to ask yourself for even one second, “Is this a shirt or a dress?”

Then it is always a shirt.

I know you really want it to be a dress. But if it were a dress, your ass cheeks wouldn’t be hanging out. Do us all a favor and put on some pants.

Thanks, 

Charming

P.S. I realize that us Southern Gals are all about dressing up for football games and tailgates. I, like you, wore a little knit dress and appropriately colored accessories (chunky beads) to celebrate on Saturday. But let me offer some friendly fashion advice. Please, for the love of all things good in this world, stop wearing four-inch stilettos to football games. You’re just going to twist an ankle. If you’re too good for a pair of flip flops, invest in ballet flats. (Seriously, it is almost November and it is still flip-flop and knit dress weather here. Cherish this blessing.)

Attention Men:

File the following under “things my child-wanting ex-girlfriend I dumped doesn’t need to see”: 

1. Pictures of you holding the baby you just had with your new girlfriend.

Thanks,

Charming

Last week’s Happy Hour came and went with no romantic fireworks to report. I had a nice time with the group and had the first of what I hope will be many Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ales made by the Blue Moon Brewing Company. It’s not quite cold enough for me to sink into a thick, dark beer like a Mackeson XXX. But soon.

It took a little while to engage The Wine Guy in conversation – we were all sitting at a long table and not meandering around a bar, so the dynamic was different. He truly seems a bit on the shy side and he had a guy friend with him to talk to.

After things warmed up a little, we started sharing stories of college and it turns out that The Wine Guy? I probably met him in college. I mentioned a bar I always went to while I was in school and he said, “Hey, I lived there. I was there every night.” So yes, in my younger, wilder, jager and vodka-hazy days, I met this man and I don’t really remember him at all.

We went through people we knew and it turns out that one of my friends dated one of his friends and my College Roommate on occasion hung out with two of his good friends who were in our major and he said, “Well, you might know my other friend, but he’s probably older.”

And he told me who his friend was and it took everything in my power not to snort and laugh and choke on my beer because not only did I know the guy (we’ll call him Center of Attention Guy), but I very briefly went out with him oh so many years ago.

Flashback to at least 1999 or 2000. I was a young college student, aged 19 or 20. Center of Attention Guy was at least three or four years older than I was – every group of college kids has a guy like Center of Attention Guy, a perennial college senior with who has forgotten his age. I ran into him one day and we ended up having lunch and by the time I’d returned home from lunch and running an errand, I had a message from Prom Date saying, “You went on a date with [Center of Attention Guy]!”

Now, I hadn’t thought our lunch was a date, but word traveled fast. Center of Attention Guy was a nice guy, but he had a slightly abrasive personality that people either loved or hated. A touch hard to handle. I was unsure as to where I stood in the spectrum of like and dislike, as I’d always viewed him as mildly annoying. Our lunch had been fun and we’d never run out of things to talk about, so I decided to wait and see where it went.

He invited me to his Christmas Party, which was the same night as another party that had demanded “dressy” attire, despite the fact that it was just a regular drunkfest that happened to be Christmas themed. I decided to go to Center of Attention Guy’s party first for a few minutes and then head over to the party I originally wanted to attend.

It is easy for me to see now that I was a bit clueless as to the fact that Center of Attention Guy really liked me and also slow to realize that I didn’t share his feelings. Dropping by for fifteen minutes before I scampered off was probably a touch heartless. In my defense, when I told him I was coming, I also told him I had a prior engagement that evening.

So there I am in a long black skirt, high-heeled boots and a soft, form-fitting turtleneck sweater. I’d decided that an all black ensemble was as dressy as I was getting to drink beer out of cans, but I had brushed sparkly eyeshadow across my lids and put big curls in my long hair.

As soon as Center of Attention Guy saw me, his eyes lit up and he said, “[Charming], I am so glad you came. You look so pretty and dressed up.” He was genuinely glad to see me and mistakenly thought the curls and sparkles and tight sweater were for him.

And I, because I was young and clueless, said, “Oh thanks; the other party I have tonight is allegedly kind of dressy.”

His shoulders dropped. “You got dressed up for another party?”

Clearly my masterful PR skills hadn’t kicked in yet, because I said, “Yeah, it is Christmas Party Season. But I’ll have a beer if you have one to spare.”

Unintentionally heartless, I swear. We had a beer and he walked me to my car and said he was so glad to see me.

I didn’t talk to him during the semester break, but a few weeks after New Year’s he asked me out on a proper date. It was one of the nicest, most well-planned dates I’ve been on. He picked a good restaurant about an hour off the beaten path; he burned a CD full of songs he knew I liked for the ride and for me to take home. (To this day, I can’t hear “Boogie Shoes” by KC and the Sunshine Band without remembering this date.) When we got to the restaurant they sat as where his grandparents always sat and he clearly knew his way around the menu, ordering us some of the best bread pudding I’ve ever had in my life for dessert. After dinner we had a great conversation as we drove back to town and watched a movie and hung out.

And then it all fizzled – I was busy and he was busy and then I felt like he was blowing me off and so when I saw him I turned up my nose and ignored him. To retaliate, he told a mutual friend or two that I was “moody and insensitive.” (It turns out that he had heard through the grapevine that I said I’d known immediately that I wasn’t attracted to him. I did say this after a few cocktails, though I’d never expected him to find out.)

In what was never one of my proudest moments, I was crashing a party at his house after the “moody and insensitive” comment. On the way to the party I’d commented that we’d had such a nice time on the date and I couldn’t figure out why he’d acted so strangely. And so the evening might have ended with me standing in his living room proclaiming that I was “NEITHER MOODY NOR INSENSITIVE” and he might – might! – have kicked everyone from the party out of his apartment because he was mad at me.

Ahem.

And then the next girl he dated it the woman he eventually married. When he introduced me to her he bungled the introduction because he didn’t know what to say – had we dated or had we not. Prom Date said he could have gone with “This is [Charming]. I tried to date her but she wouldn’t let me.”

Flashing forward seven some odd years, back to Happy Hour with The Wine Guy, I just smiled and said, “Yeah, I know that guy.”

So there’s this guy. The Wine Guy. I met him through friends and the first night we all hung out he seemed to flirt with me, bought me a beer or two and I thought, “Hey, this one’s polite and fun. I like him.”

Flash forward a few weeks and well, I was sure he wasn’t interested. He was flirtatious with all of the women I was with and I wrote him off as not interested, but polite and charming.

We exchanged a few e-mails and then I saw him twice in passing with the same friend and he was very friendly each time. The second time I passed on one side of the street while he was sitting having a beer on the other side and he ran across to give me a hug. And my friend said “[Charming]! Who is that guy? We’ve seen him twice this week and I think he likes you.” And I explained that “He’s not interested, he’s just Southern.”

So a few weeks later I copied him on mass e-mail about an event and then two weeks ago, he e-mailed me back asking me about it – a full month after my original e-mail, after I’d already forgotten that he was copied on the message. This started another round of e-mails about how he really wants to go to this event, and I forwarded them to The Banker to see if she thought he was fishing. And we decided that it seemed like he wasn’t interested, but that our knowledge of men and their intentions could fit in the world’s smallest thimble with plenty of room to spare.

So now I’ve been invited (by my girlfriends) to Happy Hour tomorrow night with him and a pal. My girlfriend really wants me to go – she called me to remind me about it, which she knew she didn’t have to do because of course I have it on my calendar and even if I didn’t, I’d been thinking about going all weekend.

There are two schools of thought – he’s shy or he’s just not interested in me. And I accept both possibilities, though I know the latter is probably the reality.

But the thing is, I keep wondering about him. And I even tried on possible Happy Hour outfits tonight, which is a sure sign that I’m heading for the disappointment of mismatched expectations.

Reality’s a bitch. But could two beers, a coy smile and some serious eyelash batting really hurt anything?

Early afternoon, Saturday, Beer One:

“What did I do before all of this technology?” I asked as leaned back in my chair-in-a-bag with a beer at a tailgate on Saturday afternoon.

I’d just typed out a couple of e-mails and text messages alerting some friends to my location and simply could not remember how we ever pulled off elaborate tailgates without cell phones and e-mail. I picked my phone off of my lap to send out one more message when The Lawyer interrupted me with an answer.

“Um, you paid attention to your surroundings?” she said, nodding to the people gathered around me.

I giggled and put down the phone, as she’d clearly made her point about my technology. (Though, I might add, she can’t be completely anti-technology, as she did run with me to watch a critical play on a nearby tailgate’s 32-inch high definition flat screen later that night.)

—

Late afternoon, Saturday, Beer Four:

“Is it weird that I feel awkward that I’ve made out with two guys at this tailgate?” The Lawyer asked me, motioning to two friends of a friend’s boyfriend.

I paused.

“Nope,” I said. “It would just remind of going out to any bar, any night years ago. Pretend we’re still in college.”

—

Late morning, Sunday, Glass of Water:

“Hah, the menu says ‘$3.99 entitles you to all of the champagne you can drink’,” said The Lawyer.

“Oh yeah?” I said, scanning the brunch section. “Well, I always feel entitled to all of the champagne I can drink, so that won’t be a problem.”