Flirtation

Last night Jen and I met at the Fat Cat for post work drinkies. Love this place. It reminds me of some of the cozy little joints in New York of which I’m surprisingly fond. You know, tables situated painfully, claustrophobically close together with lighting so dim that you need a torch in order to read the menu. Yeah, love those actually.

I got there early and found the very last seat at the bar. Dude next to me, who’d just arrived, was in the midst of saving two seats besides his own. Crap!  I asked him if he could move down one as my friend would be arriving shortly. He very graciously accommodated.

As it turns out, just before either of us arrived bar-side, I’d come a bit close to running into him while I was parallel parking nearby. Oopsie. I apologized profusely. Of course! I did allow that, if I had collided with him, he'd have been fine while Bix would've been demolished. Smarts aren't exactly bulletproof.  He then asked about my gas milage—it’s the first thing folks ask about my brill baby Bix. (40 miles to the gallon, more or less)

Jen arrived as did this fellow’s chums BUT the dude kept up the gab with me, with us now. It seemed to me that he was just chatting to Jen so’s she could ‘terp for me. Huh. Jen’s the younger, much prettier AND hearing endowed one—why was he still jumping through communication hoops to schmooze with me, especially since his buds had showed up?

He mentioned, proudly I thought, that he’s been married for 34 years and has four kids (all grown). I responded that my 30th anniversary is coming up (the 27th of this month!) and that I’m more wild about my man now than I was in the beginning (truth!). All of a sudden he’s backpedaling, it seemed, talking of how raising children, (four of them!) really takes a harsh toll. I commiserated. We went back to our drinks and respective company with just an occasional exchange after that.

And then, THEN, as Jen and I were getting up to leave, dude says something like, “Politics.” It was a statement, not a question. Huh? I oh-so-eloquently responded.

“What are you?”
What are my choices?
“Republican or Democrat?”

I thought, crap, what IS this all about and allowed that I generally vote for the Democratic candidate but my politics are def to the left of that.

He proudly proclaimed that he's a Trump man. JESUS! He seemed like such a nice guy too. We then had a brief exchange where he didn’t, for the first time in our convo, listen to a word I said. I brought up facts like how Trump’s not great with the buckos. I attempted to rebut Mister Trump Supporter’s claims that Obama’s done nothing with, well, reality. This man was, willfully, more deaf than me.

He then helped Jen on with her coat (mine was already on) and we beat fast feet outta there. I asked her What the fuck was that all about?
No conclusion beyond this—apparently he was flirting with me!

1. Hilarious! Dude was flirting with moi—this deaf, 57 year old broad. That doesn’t happen often. I think. I’m not real observant in this regard.
2. Em, political argument, especially if you’re a Trump supporter, is a spectacularly bad romance gambit. 

Rilly now. The Meet Cute Argument is a Hollywood trope, not reality. FYI and shit.

Maybe that’s just me though.