If I hadn’t witnessed it with my own eyes, I never would have believed it. My friends and I stumbled into a crowded bar for some after-dinner drinks one night and, within thirty minutes, my friend Aaron had the waitress’ phone number. Not that surprising since Aaron is a tall, good looking guy who always seems to have a harem; but his technique was unorthodox to say the least. He stood in her way whenever the waitress walked past us. He would interrupt her while she was taking orders from other customers. He sent his drink back three times, citing something absurd each time — “not enough gin… not enough tonic… I asked for a martini… I’m just a pain in the ass.” If I were her, I would have sent another server to our table but she GAVE him her phone number and he didn’t even ASK for it.
What the…? Yeah, I’m not really sure either.
But come to think of it, I’m not much better than that waitress. I’ve had boyfriends who were “perfect.” They were loving, sensitive, doting. They made me breakfast in bed every morning, they scraped the ice off my car windshield when it snowed, they bought me every handbag and piece of jewelry I noticed. They were Aaron’s polar opposite. But I dumped them anyway.