Within seconds of getting tea with Cassie, I caught the whiff of weed. Of course, I should have been suspect from the get-go when she pitched tea, but I’m a trusting fella. I may or may not have shown up to these dates half a flask down, but I still didn’t approve. Most of my girls don’t get within smelling distance until I’ve had a few in their company, and by then they can probably tell what kind of drunk I’ve decided to be that night.
But I kept an open mind to Cassie, with her brunette braided pigtails. She was twenty six, but looked seventeen. She talked photography, and I mentioned my interest, and she basically ignored me. She was a one-track-minded girl with a one-sided conversation that made me wish for Whiskey. I even pitched getting out of there, and hitting up the dive next door. She fought me on it, and I made up a story about knowing the bartender and it being his first shift, how I wanted to show my support. She sighed and let an, “okay, just one quick round.”
Three Bloody Mary’s later we are talking about tea, Conan O’Brien, and how weird it was that my bartender friend was basically ignoring me. She was a David Letterman girl…which hurt more than the pot. I kept offering her up my booze-infused celery, and I fessed up that I don’t disbelieve in Karma. She asked if I wanted to smoke after we left the bar, I told her I did, but not that kind. Ironically, enough, she told disapprove of my smoking, and I told her to not worry, because I wasn’t going to give her my smoker’s breath, or even my bloody mary breath, but I had a lovely evening.
No comments:
Post a Comment