“Why don’t you give me your phone number so I can call you?”
“Okay. I don’t know why I got my phone out too. I guess to look at what my number is?”
“Hang on. I’m in the wrong menu. Wait. Clear. New contact. Okay, go.”
“You mean, now?”
I may have met my awkward match.
She was so cute I almost sat down next to her, just after my friend had introduced us. I’m an absolute sucker for huge, clear eyes and shoulder-length brown hair. I am even more of a sucker for girls who share names of spectacularly desirable female fictional characters. Let’s call this one Elizabeth Bennet.
“Sit down right here,” the friend on the opposite side of the booth had to remind me. I guess, sure. If you want to sit at a booth where a friend and a stranger are sitting opposite one another, I suppose politeness requires you to sit next to the friend, even if the stranger is remarkably hot. This is not only less anonymously invasive of personal space, but also has the advantage of allowing you to look at the strangers pretty eyes. “We’re just talking about Elizabeth’s boy problems.”
“I know!” says EB. “I’m such a disaster. Boys!”
Fortunately: “I like talking about emotions.”
“It’s just this one boy I like. I can’t get him to want to go out with me, even though I’ve known him forever.”
Well, look, I’ll have that conversation any day of the week. We instantly delved into details: length of crush, average and maximum level of physical contact, potential other girls who may need to be taken out of the picture.
But I had to try for a little movie magic, too. “If there’s not a lot of physical contact, that’s an excellent place to start. You need to be touching his arm whenever you laugh at a joke.”
“Well, just practice. Here’s my arm. Look, I’ll tell a joke: A woman walks into a bar and asks for an entendre, and make it a double. So he ‘gave it to her!’ Ha!”
I don’t know if it gets any worse than that, folks. But, dammit, you go to flirt with the army you have. Then again, she laughed and touched my arm, so maybe you should keep your mouths shut. I don’t see any girls touching your arms right now.
“I just don’t know,” continued EB, as I took a swig of my beer. “It’s just that I’m just the most awkward girl ever around boys.”
I calmly swallowed my mouthful of beer, because I’m as cool under pressure as hexagonal close packed (HCP) solid helium. “Oh yeah?”
“Absolutely. They always think I’m too nerdy.” My beer is in serious danger of being dropped on the table. But like I said: HCP, bitches. I set it down. “I think it’s because I’m interested in things like books and fonts.”
That did it, right there. I didn’t know who this other guy is, but screw him. I was asking for her phone number.