His single friend was attractive-ish but not really my type. He wore a buttoned down Abercrombie shirt and pressed jeans, had just transplanted from New York for a Microsoft finance job, and was living in Belltown. I didn't ask, but I am certain that his spare time was spent at wine tastings and out on his friends' sailboats. Come on, Seattle, you know exactly the kind of douchbag I'm referring to.
He wasted no time in indicating what he was after, eyeing me up and down and inquiring, "So can I get on you tonight?"
Why I didn't walk away right then, I don't know. Loneliness? Desperation? The potential for a new blog post? Instead of the quick kick to the groin that he deserved, I smiled, touched his arm, moved in closer, and responded, "Maybe we should get to know each other a little better."
We talked about really fascinating stuff for a few minutes, like how he grew up in New Hampshire and works in finance. Ooooh, tell me more.
His friends told him that they were about to take off, and he asked me if I was coming with them.
"Where are you going?," I wanted to know.
He eyed me up and down again and winked. "Rapetown," he replied.
Poor guy, he didn't know. He didn't know that I provide medical care to women and men who have been raped. He didn't know that while I may be sweet and flirty, I am also an ardent feminist. He didn't know that rape jokes in Seattle, the world's epicenter of political correctness, are not acceptable, or that rape jokes in ANY city are not acceptable. He thought he was being smooth, that I would think the idea of being forced to have sex by a man who I met in a bar that night was hot, not absolutely terrifying and disgusting. He was wrong.
He tried to smooth things over by offering to buy me a drink. What woman wants to drink alcohol purchased by a man who just made a joke about raping her?
So yeah, I'm still single.
He wasted no time in indicating what he was after, eyeing me up and down and inquiring, "So can I get on you tonight?"
Why I didn't walk away right then, I don't know. Loneliness? Desperation? The potential for a new blog post? Instead of the quick kick to the groin that he deserved, I smiled, touched his arm, moved in closer, and responded, "Maybe we should get to know each other a little better."
We talked about really fascinating stuff for a few minutes, like how he grew up in New Hampshire and works in finance. Ooooh, tell me more.
His friends told him that they were about to take off, and he asked me if I was coming with them.
"Where are you going?," I wanted to know.
He eyed me up and down again and winked. "Rapetown," he replied.
Poor guy, he didn't know. He didn't know that I provide medical care to women and men who have been raped. He didn't know that while I may be sweet and flirty, I am also an ardent feminist. He didn't know that rape jokes in Seattle, the world's epicenter of political correctness, are not acceptable, or that rape jokes in ANY city are not acceptable. He thought he was being smooth, that I would think the idea of being forced to have sex by a man who I met in a bar that night was hot, not absolutely terrifying and disgusting. He was wrong.
He tried to smooth things over by offering to buy me a drink. What woman wants to drink alcohol purchased by a man who just made a joke about raping her?
So yeah, I'm still single.
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