Before I begin, I would like to make an
announcement. I'll be writing a series
called “Untold Stories of Girls Night Out.” In these stories you'll get
to experience, or even re-live,
nights out with my friends. Names will be changed for confidentiality,
but the stories are real. Enjoy!
There’s nothing better than a girl’s
night out. Spending time with your best
girlfriends, drinking cocktails, and dancing the night away is essential to
blowing off steam from the work week.
There are a few things that inevitably happen on a GNO. Some stories are open to being retold;
others, sworn to secrecy. Usually girls out
on a GNO fall into one of the following categories: drunky, dancey, cryie,
laughy, texty, manhunty, or feisty. I
turn into manhunty.
Apparently, my favorite thing to do on
a GNO is give out my number to any man who has a pulse. In a drunken moment of optimism, I give my
digits to potential suitors only to wake up the next morning with multiple
texts, missed phone calls, and the realization that I am the one to blame for weeks of
unwanted communication.
What was that you asked? Why don’t I just give out a fake phone
number? I’ve asked myself the same
question! I think that deep down I’m a
hopeless romantic. Yes, I’m in a dive
bar and, yes, the guy I’m talking to has a beard that can compete with that of
Santa Claus, but he could be the one! Besides, think of all the time and energy I’d
save during Christmas: No more
taking my children to the mall to get pictures with Santa—Daddy’s already
got a beard! All he needs is a red
suit! I’m killing two birds with one
stone here, people! You think I would
learn from my mistakes and come to the conclusion that giving out my
number will have consequences.
Well, ladies and gentleman, I give you, The Consequence.
A few of my girlfriends and I went out
this past weekend. We started off at our
usual spot. After a couple of cocktails,
I began talking to a handsome fellow and before I knew it, conversation turned
from typical to flirtatious. He was
smart, tall, had a contagious laugh. I
was intrigued and hopeful. But then he
threw a curve ball. My wing women asked
if he was Catholic. His response was a
firm, “Hell no!” Clearly, he was
traumatized by this question. I started
to lose interest quickly. I wanted to
continue with my GNO and enjoy the rest of the evening. Hell boy had a different idea in mind. After learning that I was Catholic, he decided that this was his opportunity to make me
realize what a complete sham the Catholic faith was and that I had been brainwashed. He attempted to quiz me on the Church’s
catechism and to explain why the Pope was a “joke.” Finally, he realized I was not amused and he
turned to compliments in the hope that they would save the conversation. They didn’t.
I knew being rude wouldn’t help the
situation, even if he was insulting my religion. I felt as though I was representing Catholics
everywhere and I didn’t want to give this guy any more “proof that all
Catholics are idiots.” Just when I
thought he’d given up, he asked for my phone number. I couldn’t think of a good response to let
him down easy so I panicked and gave him a fake number. Then he threw another curve ball and called
my faux number and asked me to repeat his number to him. In shock, I acted as if he spilled his drink
on me and excused myself. This guy wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so I
took action, made an escape, and went home.
I was in the clear… or so I thought.
Monday evening I received a text
message from a number I didn’t recognize.
It said, “I hate Jesus. ;-D . It was fun hanging out with you the other
night…weird thing is we’ve met before. I
already had your number in my phone. I’m
totally perplexed as to why you gave me the wrong number. I was hoping you’d shed light on the situation.”
Oh, the horror! I’m fairly certain I had a mini heart attack
when I read that. How is it even
possible?! I have no recollection of meeting Hell boy before. Out of
guilt, I ended up coming clean and apologizing about the faux number. I explained to him that I wasn’t interested
and after he spent the better part of an hour insulting me, I thought we
probably would not make a good match. My
honesty only made things worse. I was
then assaulted with the longest text message ever received on the planet. I can’t repeat what he wrote, but suffice to
say I could barely read through all the unkind words. Did I mention he
was thirty-five? I wonder why he's still single.
There are lessons to be learned
here. Most are self-explanatory but if I
can give a few pieces of advice they would be this: don’t talk religion in a
bar, never give out your number under the influence, and never give a fake
number—it'll probably come back to bite you in the…well, you know. As always, happy dating.
