Would You Like Fries With That?

Every now and then, a little flirtation can do a body good. That was my side dish at dinner a few weeks ago, and I heartily recommend it.

I worked late one evening and decided to stop at my favorite watering hole on the way home. To my chagrin, my usual seat was taken. Short of being the old fart in church and telling that person to get out of my pew, I took the only seat left – on the corner of the bar where it turned the 90 degree angle of the U shaped bar. The wait staff called out to greet me, and we spoke for a moment. I was probably my snippy little self, because we laughed about something. While waiting for my drink, a deep voice said, “Well, hello. How has your evening been?” (or something to that effect) I turned and replied fine, worked late, mentioned weather stuff I think. We struck up a conversation. At one point I took off my glasses to clean them as we visited. He pretended to gasp and said, “Oh, my god, those eyes.” I believe a line about how blue they were was also uttered. It was straight out of a book I’d title Lines for Lounge Lizards. I laughed and told him he was being silly.

The evening wore on and he asked me if he could pay for my dinner. I said no, dinner leads to other things, and I was not looking for a relationship of any kind - even a casual one. I said I had too much water under the bridge to navigate. Besides that, I was probably too old for him. (Guys his age usually want a thirty-something to hang on their arm.) He thought he could knock that hurdle down by saying the year he graduated, and I beat him by being one year older. 

We talked about our experiences with marriage and divorce. He had been married but was left to bring up three daughters on his own (if I am remembering correctly) and I told him I’d jumped the broom three times. Husband #1 was a nice guy, I met him in a rock band. (I have written about those escapades in previous posts.) We dated for two years, were married for ten years and simply grew apart and saw life differently. There were other factors, but none relevant to today’s post.  Husband #2 I thought was my soul mate who ended up literally destroying my heart. We met in a concert band in which I played trumpet and he played tuba. At this point my table mate said he was afraid he didn’t stand a chance with me now because he also played the tuba back in the day. I dated husband #2 for one year and was married for almost eleven, so my track record thus far was twelve years in a relationship. After that I was gun shy, but I settled on marrying #3 for companionship. We all know that rarely works out and it didn’t.

We talked kids, dogs, work, etc. We joked a bit. He continued to hint about giving him a chance. I said nah and he replied with, “You never know. We might be soul mates.” and told me I was breaking his heart. (I should collect these lines and actually write that book I mentioned earlier.) I snapped back that I knew he wasn’t serious, probably just looking for an easy hook up or a berth in the current port. But I did tell him I was enjoying the conversation, because, if I wasn't, I could have chased him away very easily. He asked, “Oh, really?” I replied that I had done it before and did so very successfully. Flirting table mate was curious so I proceeded to tell him the story of the evening an old geezer sat down beside me. As Mr. Geezer started up the conversation I could tell where he was going. He physically turned to face me and, with an elbow propped up on the bar, he slid closer and closer. My bartenders were worrying about whether or not they needed to defend me by distracting him or move me to safety. One said, “Nah. Miss Cheryl can take care of herself.” After a few short minutes Sire Geezer shifted his body weight, straightened up and fled to another section of the bar pretending to go speak to someone he recognized. The bartender came over and told me he had been getting worried and asked how I got rid of Lord Geezer. I said that I had been a little naughty, but it worked. When the turning point came that Admiral Geezer leaned in and invited me to dinner with the inference that we could get to know each other (wink, wink) I thought I could stop him easily with one line. That Didn’t Happen. In sentence fashion here is what went down:

“Oh, sir, I am sorry. I believe we are looking for the same thing.”

His eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store. I knew the word AFFAIR was floating in the air.

I thought, oh crap, think, think, think.

“I mean, I swing for the other team”

He looked confused and asked if I played sports and proceeded to say that he loved sports. He could take me to games, yack, yack, yack.

Again, crap, crap, crap. Think, think, think.

“No, I mean I prefer women. Two boobs and a bush. What is not to like about all that?”

He froze, straightened up and claimed to spot an old buddy and raced away like a cartoon character leaving a trail of dust hanging suspended in the air.

When I finishing telling my waiter the tale, he exclaimed, “Oh, Miss Cheryl. You are so naughty. I’m going to go tell everyone!”

My table mate raised an eyebrow and told me I was, indeed, a tough customer. I agreed. Conversation continued about kids and dogs. A waitress dropped a glass and something was said about a heart shattering. (Well, he shouldn’t have had it on his sleeve. It wouldn’t have slipped off so easily.) What I was tempted to tell him was that I have so much baggage at this point in my life, if I had a tramp stamp on my backside it would say “Southern Pacific Railroad,” and my right butt cheek would have the tattooed manifest of all I’ve been through running down to mid-thigh.

It came time for him to leave. He paid his tab and said, “Woman, I am leaving to go be heartbroken in my hotel room. I feel I have been played tonight.” I quipped something back, might have invited him to return for more punishment someday but don’t remember what, exactly.

After he left, my girls behind the bar raced over and asked if I gave him my phone number. I said of course not. He was probably just looking to hook up on this business trip and may even have a wife at home. They were begging to differ with me, but I was pretty sure. They told me he had his credit card out to pay his tab when I walked in. When I set my stuff down and went to the restroom he slipped the card back in his pocket and proceeded to run up a tab as an excuse to stay longer. That surprised me, because he did stay much longer than someone looking for an easy mark for the evening. Since he was nice looking, he could have left when he knew he struck out and gone to the next place down the road to find a cheap date. Hmmmm. Now I am curious.

A week later I was sitting with my ex discussing the funeral arrangements for his brother’s wife who was killed in a tragic accident. We were discussing my participation in the funeral because Delia was not just a former sister in law of mine. She was also my friend. My flirting friend of the other evening walked in and sat down opposite Ramon and I and nodded hello. I barely acknowledged him in my grief-stricken state. He asked the bartender if Ramon was my father, and she told him no – he’s the ex-husband. (She later told me he said, “Oh, I just nodded to her. I hope I didn’t get her in any trouble.” She assured him I had things under control.) Ramon and I finished dinner, paid our ticket and prepared to leave. On a whim, I took the duplicate receipt and scribbled a note saying something like this: Dear friend across the way. Sorry I couldn’t break your heart tonight. Maybe I can another day.

I left feeling as foolish as a school girl. I must say, even old ladies like me can remember what it felt like to be young. And I think I’ll order up a side of flirtatious conversation next time instead of fries. Damn, it was fun.