J: We’ve got a boob-starer on our hands

Context: I had been talking to “Boob Man” for about a week via Tinder message and we had a good banter going, so I agreed to get dinner at a local pizza place on Monday after work. However, as mentioned before, I actually like someone now, so this was solely for blog fodder and free dinner. This means I didn’t worry about eating like a slob. Boo-yah.

talk to food

Before we begin, I would like to make an open and honest plea to the men of Tinder. PLEASE put up a clear picture of what you ACTUALLY LOOK LIKE. This small step can make a world of difference in several different ways.
1. If I swipe right on you, I think you are attractive. If I agree to a date with you, I’m either REALLY hungry or I think you are attractive. If you are not attractive, I will be angry, and I will probably order the most expensive thing on the menu. Usually that’s a lobster. I fucking hate lobster, but I will order it, and I won’t eat it, and you will hate me. But that’s fine, because I already hate you, you LIAR.
2. While I wait for Tinder dates, I end up staring at innocent passerby in a feeble attempt to determine if they are my date. This usually consists of me smiling seductively at the most attractive men in my vicinity. If I’m feeling particularly feisty, I’ll even sneak in a wink. And then I’m super caught off guard when this other, less attractive man approaches me and knows my name and then hot guy thinks it’s my boyfriend and doesn’t wink back at me. Why is the world so cruel?!

Such was the situation I found myself in with Boob Guy (BG), and when he approached me I was like “Oh, shit.” He was shorter than I anticipated, and had teeth as yellow as Big Bird. Not ideal, but like I said, I was in this for the free food and exactly nothing else.

Our waitress was very attentive. In fact, a little TOO attentive, if you ask me. She took our drink orders (beeeeeeer yasssss) and then came back every 17 seconds to ask if we had decided on a pizza yet. Since BG was too busy staring at my tits to look at the menu, she had to come back approximately seven times before we were ready to order. I suggested a pizza, he asked my boobs if they thought it would be good, they agreed, and so he finally ordered it.

Okay guys, I like don’t HAVE boobs. They’re small and I love ‘em but this guy was TRANSFIXED. I looked down several times to see if they had sprouted second boobs, or were doing a kickline, or if I had forgotten to put on a shirt, but no such luck. Still just boobs. I decided I’d finish my two pieces of pizza (…okay, three, once again not worried about being judged here) and tell him it was my bedtime. Beauty sleep, okay?!

sleep

Well, turns out Mother Nature had very different plans because she sent the 40 day flood from Noah’s Ark down upon Arlington the second I finished my first beer. The waitress, making her rounds (she had slowed down to checking in on us every 30 seconds once we had ordered), swooped down and asked if we wanted more beers. I tried to convince her that I had parked my ark outside and was therefore okay to leave, but BG had already asked my boobs if they wanted another, and they said yes. Damn it, boobs. I was stuck.

I snuck out to the bathroom and wrapped all of my exposed skin in toilet paper in a last-ditch attempt to preserve at least a shred of dignity.

lost dignity

When I returned to the table, he had paid the bill, and the rain had stopped. Mission accomplished. He walked me to my apartment building and we hugged before he headed to the metro. He texted me immediately afterwards saying he had a good time and wanted to hang out with my boobs again this week. He said the rest of me could come too, which I thought was really sweet of him.

So, if anyone has any good ideas for how to phrase “no thank you, I only wanted the one free dinner” but NOT say that, please send them my way! Otherwise, looks like my ex and I are getting back together again…

XOXO,
J

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