Two Minutes And Thirteen Seconds

Okay:

So I was at happy hour with a friend of mine the other day. Nothing unusual for me. Just trying to relax after a long day with America's troubled youth. I saw a young lady who caught my eye, and I suppose we exchanged some flirtatious glances. It was nothing overt. I passed it off as meaningless and ordered my drink. Vodka and Red Bull.

I didn't even notice her and her friend leave. I was later joined by more friends. We knocked back a few and recapped the day. Somebody got into a fight. Somebody kicked a hole in the wall. Someone was arrested. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The young ladies returned. The one who caught my eye had left her umbrella. We were now sitting in their seats, so they had to poke around a bit. And in the course of her poking around she poked her head between my friend and I, then placed her hand on my back.

A long time ago my sister taught me the secret of touching. If a woman barely knows you and intentionally touches you, that's a signal. Not an unintended brush or a friendly handshake. I'm talking about a hand on the shoulder, arm or back. If the hand stays there for longer than a two count, you've officially been invited.

I said something very Claude. Like, "Oh, baby, you can touch me anytime." I know, corny. But that sort of thing has always worked for me. I'm not sure why. You can't say it with nasty wantonness though, like you're ready to take her around back as if she were a common whore. It's gotta be light-hearted and self-deprecating in a way.

She giggled a bit, but did not remove her hand. She let it marinate for a while then slid it off. Then they decided to grab a table and have another round of drinks. In typical Claude fashion, I let it go. No need to be a hound dog. I played it cool and stayed with my group. By the time I was ready to go, I had forgotten they were still there.

As I was putting on my coat she motioned for me to come to their table. "Hi," she said, extending her hand. "I'm ______________. What's your name?"

I was shocked and flattered at her forwardness. It's a real ego booster to be approached by an attractive woman. I've always assumed that it was my personality that attracted women to me. To say half a sentence to a woman and pique her interest suggests that you're better-looking than you think you are.

She slid a folded up bar napkin over to me and told me to call her after 7.

The next day, I did just that. Around 9:30, after I put my daughter to bed, I gave her a call.

"Hello?"

"How are you?"

"Who is this?"

"This is Claude."

"Who?"

"Claude. I met you the other day at happy hour. You gave me your number and told me to call you after 7."

"Oh, right. The cute boy. I thought you were going to lose my number."

"No, I made sure I held on to it. Where are you? It's kind of noisy."

"I'm leaving church. I do Bible classes in the evening. Gotta get me some Jesus, you know."

"Yeah. Right. Jesus."

"Hold on. Put that down! Mommy said don't touch that!"

"Hello?"

"I got two kids."

"Oh. Two, huh? That's nice."

"You got kids?"

"One. She's 7 and cute as a button."

"I got a daughter. She broke my phone the other day. The screen's all busted and ---"

We were disconnected. When I looked at the screen on my phone, it said the call lasted two minutes and thirteen seconds. Long enough for me to realize I wasn't the least bit interested.

2:13. That's all I need.

She should wear a t-shirt that says, "I'm an unmarried Jesus freak with two kids who picks up strange men at bars."

No thanks, sweetie.


Thanks for reading.

GOBAMA!

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Confession: Every time I have been approached by a woman, I have been utterly disappointed upon speaking to her later. Is there some correlation or is it a manifestation of that old joke? "I don't want to be a part of any club that would have me as a member."