Crazy City Stories*,  SMRT*

Pick-Up Line Offenders*

I sometimes think there is an old woman trapped inside my body.

Despite this theory, I went out last night.

(no seriously, I actually left my apartment and went… to a pub. *GASP* I know, CRAZY, right??)

I actually had a really good time too… but here’s is how I know there is an old woman living inside me:

1) Karog and I didn’t leave until 10pm. I actually had to coach myself into thinking that 10pm was not that late… because in my head that was 2 hours past jammie time. (jammies = pjs)

2) I wanted to go to see some friends and wish BD* a happy birthday, but before I left I kept thinking that jammies + book + Hubster + sleep = happy Shop Girl. Who needs to go out… ever? haha

3) The pub was loud. I used to like loud bars… now I like bed.

4) Despite glorious conversation, after 10 minutes I was ready to crawl under the coats on the couch next to me and sleep. Thank goodness we had some entertainment, right Karog? HAH

5) I kept looking at people and thinking they all looked underage… (since when are 12 year olds allowed in bars?)

Okay, so they weren’t really twelve, but they looked it. Scary.

6) I forgot about “bar clothes”. I went out in my most comfortable shoes and jeans in my biggest, warmest most comfortable beige sweater. I was definitely the the, um, warmest(?) person there.

I am so old and married. But you know what–I kinda really love it. I really did end up having a great time last night, but I’m definitely not someone who needs to go out every weekend anymore. I did the whole social butterfly thing in first year (I was out and about every day–my average bedtime was 4am and there was no such thing as 9am classes…) but now I’m really quite content being a little old wife woman who reads books in her jammies before going to bed at 7pm.

I don’t really go to bed at 7pm… but wouldn’t that be lovely?!

But, I must absolutely share with you the highlight of my evening last night… I mean, it was unbelievable.

I love bad pickup lines. I don’t enjoy when they are tried on me, but I love love love when they happen to other people and they live to retell the experience. The best (and worst) line that was ever used on me happened when I was 18, and nothing has ever topped it. I was asked to dance by a reasonably good-looking and very well-dressed older guy (he was maybe 23 or 24). He had good shoes on, so I said yes.

After about 13 seconds I knew I wasn’t interested…but apparently we were dancing to the world’s longest song. While we danced he progressively invaded my personal space. My little bubble grew smaller and smaller until it was almost non-existent and I was leaning back so far I was practically limboing on the dance floor. In a smooth move he pulled me really close so that his face was next to my ear and said:

Guy: “Hey… did you say your prayers this morning?”

Me: (inching back as far as possible) “…um…”

Guy: (looking deeply into my eyes / soul) “I did… and I think they’ve been answered.”

Me: “…that’s … nice…”

I then proceeded to look around wildly for an escape… and, finding one as the song ended, ran to my nearest male friend and suction-cupped myself to his side while this nice-shoe-wearing-bad-pick-up-line-personal-space-invader circled hungrily until he found new prey. (I guess I wasn’t the only answer to his prayers that morning… *sigh*)

I know what you’re thinking–how on earth did I resist that? It’s wondrous that I didn’t propose to him right then and there, after all, I was the answer to his prayers.

It just really makes me wonder… what the heck are some guys thinking when they say crap like that? Does anyone really believe that those lines actually work? I almost wanted to send him to a Bad Pick-Up Lines Anonymous meeting to get him some help… (do they have a reality TV show about this yet?)

Anyway… last night, amidst all my lovely teacher friends a Pick-Up Line Offender (PULO) was among us. As he sat talking to a friend of mine I listened in and was able to pick up some real gems. First things first, girls should be called “chicks”. I was a little taken aback that he needed to relay this to my friend–I mean, really, I thought all guys knew that girls loooove to be called chicks. I’m pretty sure it’s our favourite. Mine anyway. I wish everyone would just not use my name and call me “Chick” instead… wouldn’t you?

Well, apparently there were a few girls nearby who didn’t share my deep affinity for this nickname. For some strange and unknown reason, they didn’t appreciate being referred to as “chicks” and told the PULO so. He (like me) was flabbergasted by this revelation and tried to explain. This was the explanation:

PULO: (to my friend as I eavesdropped/listened in) “Hey man… so I was talking to those chicks over there and they got all upset that I called them chicks. They, like, didn’t get it, man. They should take it as a compliment… being called a chick means I think you’re hot and I want to slam you.”

I’m sorry ladies–I’m not sure if he’s single… butttt I have an inkling he just might be! haha!

If you think you’ve got a pick-up line offender story that beats my prayer one, bring it on. I’d love to hear it! haha

Shop Chick*

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