ExposedNYC

The luck of the leprechauns was not with me yesterday. In fact, I’m wondering if ancestors of mine were actually gold thieves and I’m living out a curse based on their bad behavior.

The worst nights always start so well, letting you slip out of that heavy coat of defense into something more comfortable until you stand naked, defenseless and vulnerable. But now I’m getting ahead of myself…

I went to meet a guy who I’ve had one amazing night out with, hours of conversation finished with a passionate good night kiss. I asked if he had plans to indulge in green beer for St. Patrick’s Day and he invited me out to meet him with a friend in town.

Now, let me be clear here- I made a suggestion and he insisted I come. I even called again before heading down, asking if he was sure it was a good idea to interrupt a night of male bonding with a friend he doesn’t see very often, but he insisted.

When I got there I found a group of mixed company, two guys, two girls, leaving me the never popular fifth corner. He swept me up into a big hug and I relaxed, momentarily, until we headed onto the street to hit another bar.

One of the two girls we were with reached out to hold his hand. As the reigning Queen of Desperate Justifications, I reminded myself that he admitted to having many female friends, a point I appreciated since I like a night out with my male counterparts. Besides, he seemed to be making a point to include me in conversation and ensure that I wasn’t walking alone.

While the other two went to stake out a table at our next bar, the hand-holders and I stopped for a slice of pizza. After ordering, she stepped into the restroom (because like any good New York parlor, they warm it up for you on the spot- YUM!) and as a gesture of non-threatening good faith I paid for both our slices before she got back.

I was convinced that the red-alert my heart was blaring was simple insecurity- he invited me out, right?

We continued light-hearted group banter at the next bar, although during an awkward seating situation I ended up with Hand-Holder in between me and the man whom I had considered, up until this point, to be my date. Then I noticed her grab his hand under the table.

I was dumbfounded! Was he serious? Did he really just invite me to tag along on a date with another girl? How does this benefit anyone involved beyond making all parties slightly uncomfortable? And how did I end up the odd one out? Seriously, is this a new MTV reality show, and where is my $100 for the hours that I’ve already put up with this shit?

As I waited patiently for an opportunity to exit gracefully, he and his friend got into a high-fiving conversation about the numerous comic book-inspired movies coming out, ending with his friend proclaiming “I’m pretty sure after this conversation neither one of is getting laid again, ever.” Hand-Holder turns to my date, smiling smugly, and follows up with “I’m trying to figure out why I’m even dating you?”

I was done. I excused myself to the bathroom, fearing that nausea may overtake my entire body, and upon returning to the table pulled some excuse to leave out of my tired, neglected and severely underappreciated ass.

As I stormed down the street, with the full intention of walking laps around Manhattan in order to burn off the adrenaline pumping heavy metal beats through my veins, one thought kept running through my mind-

“I bought her pizza? I bought her FUCKING pizza?!”

That’s way worse than carrying a watermelon.

Share This