Moral of the Story

When I was 22 years old I met a man. A man with a beard and the humor of a 15 year year old boy. I saw him standing across the room at the bar downtown. Well, I guess I just saw his dark figure leaning on the table because the smoke—from the notorious bikers’ cigarettes—created a thick layer that moved through the air. The air was muggy and smelled like stale beer, cigarettes, and peanuts. It burned my nose every time I breathed but I remember being scared to breathe through my mouth because I didn't want to inhale the smoke. Thinking back now, I inhaled it regardless. Why I didn't just leave, I don't know. The smell and atmosphere was so grimy that it should have ousted me to leave but I stayed. I stayed for hours. I sat. I drank. I thought. I read and I sat some more. Possibly the smoke went to my head making me stay, but I'm glad I never left. 

I kept my eye on the dark figure across the room. I flicked my eyes up from my book every so often just so I could see if he was still there. I was disappointed when I looked up and didn't see him staring back. My thoughts were racing. “Why didn't he look at me? I'm the only girl in this bar! What is more important than flirting with me? Will he buy me a drink? Why hasn't he bought me a drink yet? Maybe he is just a parsimonious man.  Should I just leave?” To keep my mind at peace, I decided it was best to spin my butt around on the hard bar stool and tuck my legs under the bar; that way I wouldn't be staring at him wondering who he is and why he is here. 

Turning around did nothing. My butt was still cold and uncomfortable on the wooden stool that rocked back and forth because the front left leg was a centimeter too short. My book was still boring. My thoughts were still running through my head at astronomical speeds and my drink was still empty. I flipped the page of my book to look nonchalant. I pretended to read while I twirled my silky brown hair—that looked more aubron when the light hit it just right—between my fingers in hopes that it would catch his attention. In the midst of “reading” and hair twirling I heard a crunch about 15 feet behind me. Peanut shells. I could hear the crunching of peanuts underneath a sturdy shoe. I could hear the click from the heel of the boots hitting the ground and then the sole of the shoe crunching the shells flat. Left, right, left, right, left, right... it was getting closer. In between each click of the shoe I could hear the pump of my heart getting louder. Before I knew it he was sitting down in the stool next to me. I totally manifested him to walk over and buy me a drink because in that moment he called the bartender over and said “two of whatever she's having” while he pointed right to me and my empty glass. I had to pretend I wasn't a loser sitting in a bar waiting for a man to come buy her a drink—that's exactly what I was doing—so I kept my eyes on my book. I pretended to finish reading my page before I gave any acknowledgement of his presence. I shut my book and let out a sigh. I cocked my head over and looked right into his eyes. He winked and I fell in love. 

I am now 30 and have two kids with the mysterious dark figure I saw from across the bar on a random Tuesday night. So the moral of the story is to wait around for men to buy you free drinks. Actually—wait— definitely don't do this because it is sad and depressing to wait for a man to change your life. But if you do happen to have nothing to do on a Tuesday night, go to a bar and wait because you just might find the love of your life.