8% ABV handsomely bottled
She was so hot. And I was on my game. I’d make a joke, she’d laugh. Uproariously. I’d make a witty observation. She’d nod in agreement. “So true.” She was impressed with me! Both my present lot in life and my dreams for the future. I was instantly in love with her. We made plans to have our first date on Friday. Sex was inferred. Lots of it. She went to the bar’s bathroom.
“Why are you talking to that disgusting pig?”
Sal butted in. My other friends were mocking me.
“What are you talking about? That girl’s way attractive.”
“Not at all. She’s like a 4 out of 10.”
I thought my friends were getting my goat. Fucking with me. And who says that they have good taste? They drink shitty macro beers and are disgusted by anything that actually has hops in it. Why should their thoughts on women be any more than unsophisticated? I was certain the new love of my laugh was gorgeous.
A girl she was with started to dry heave in the bathroom so they had to split. I spent all the next day fantasizing about her, even though I couldn’t picture her and didn’t even recall her name.
She finally Facebook friended me Thursday night. And my friends were indeed wrong. She wasn’t a 4 out of 10.
She was like a 2.
“And those are good pictures of her,” my asshole of a friend chipped in, without me even asking.
Oh, did I mention I was like twenty beers deep on Wednesday?
I had started drinking at 5:00 PM with some quite hefty brews, uncorking a bottle of the Ola Dubh Special 30 year. We all know my thoughts on beers that are corked, foil-wrapped, boxed, and/or barrel-aged (in this case in Scotch) so this was certain to be a winner. And indeed it was. Scotchy, boozy, though still quite drinkable with a smooth creaminess and nice mouthfeel. A very good brew.
Obviously, I had to make up a lie and back out of our scheduled date.
I told this story to another friend on Saturday and he gave me an incredible pearl of wisdom:
If you are incredibly drunk and a girl is still seemingly into you, then she is probably disgusting.
I thought back to my interactions with the girl on the night in question and I began to have some flashbacks.
I remembered some of the jokes I was making. Cringe-worthingly unfunny. I recalled some of the antics I pulled. Just really fucking annoying. I harkened back to the topics I discussed with her. Embarrassingly self-indulgent and dumb.
Now I understood why my friends did not want to deal with me that night! And, I also understood why the girl did. She wasn’t amused by me. Nor was she impressed. And she certainly didn’t find me funny. She was simply sucking it up and letting me act like a drunk asshole for the plain and simple fact that I was…a man. A man actually talking to her, hitting on her, for once. No attractive woman–fuck, no average-looking woman–would have put up with my garbage. This girl was forced to.
Unfortunately for her, I actually have standards–quite brutal standards–when I’m sober, so obviously she had no chance with me by the next day. Women, if you really want me and you’re ugly, you better find me on a wasted night and seize the day then lest you never get another shot.
Though my friend’s nugget of insight really changed my drunken seduction mindset, it also upset me.
“So does this mean that I can never get an attractive women when I’m absolutely shitfaced?” I asked him.
He smiled knowingly.
“Nope. She can be even drunker than you and wake up the next day looking at you sleeping beside her and think, ‘God, what have I done?'”