It was on a flight from California to New York that I met Miguel. I had claimed him during boarding as my I.F.B. or “inflight boyfriend” (which is a term flight attendants use to describe the boys or men we find attractive and secretly hope to flirt with during the flight.) He was tall dark and handsome, and dressed in a suit, (which was a bonus since I’m a sucker for a man in a suit.)
After we’d taken off, I was disappointed to see that he was completely knocked out. He was so fast asleep that when I walked through the aisle, and accidentally kicked him in the leg so hard I was certain I must have broken a bone, he didn’t even budge. Then, when I walked through later, his long leg was once again in the aisle and I accidentally kicked it again even harder. Oops! I opened my mouth to begin apologizing profusely but he was still out cold.
An hour later, while walking through the aisle, I saw that my I.F.B. was finally awake. I asked him if his leg was sore, and when he looked confused I explained the encounter I’d with his leg while he’d been passed out. I told him I was shocked he hadn’t woken since I’d kicked him so hard…twice. He laughed and told me he wouldn’t hold it against me. I asked if I could bring him a cocktail as a peace offering for roughing him up, but he declined. He said he’d had quite a bit to drink at the wedding he’d just come from and needed to recover. I told him, in my most flirtatious tone, to let me know if he changed his mind.
A while later I was in the galley chatting with my coworker about my I.F.B, and telling her it was a shame I'd more than likely never see him again. While there were plenty of attractive men on our flights, most of them didn't usually ask us out. Just as I was complaining about this fact, my I.F.B walked up right behind me. My coworker stifled a giggle and made an excuse to leave us alone. He formally introduced himself, his name was Miguel, and then he proceeded to ask me out to dinner. I was thrilled. I said I’d love to and gave him my number.
A couple of days later Miguel called and we made dinner plans for the following evening. We met at the restaurant and I almost didn’t recognize him out of his suit. He still looked cute, but in his t-shirt and flat rimmed ball cap, he appeared to be about 10 years younger then I’d originally guessed he was. When I asked, he told me he was only 23, but said he truly felt age was just a number. I wasn't completely sold on his 'age is just a number' theory, but he was charming on our date, and a gentleman when he paid the bill. We ended up having a great evening and we even made plans for the weekend. His friend was having a party and I told him I’d bring my single girlfriend Taylor.
On the night of the party, Taylor and I got decked out in our party dresses and heels. I told her there should be some cute single guys there to mingle with so she was excited. That is until we got to the “party.” We walked in and my first realization was that we were ridiculously overdressed. Miguel’s original suit attire had been deceiving, because he apparently had a uniform of a t-shirt, ball cap, and sneakers. As did everyone else there, (and when I say everyone I’m referring to the 5 other people that attended.) Miguel greeted me with a kiss and I introduced him to Taylor, who was shooting me a look that said: I cannot believe you dragged me to this, you owe me big. (I’d known Taylor for years and we’d become very good at having full conversations without speaking a word.) I shot her a look back that said: I know, I’m so sorry, we won’t stay long I promise.
Miguel asked if we’d like a drink, and in unison Taylor and I too quickly said, “Yes please!” (One of the other things I loved about Taylor was our mutual appreciation of alcohol, especially when it was needed to assist in an undesirable situation such as this “party.”) Miguel had us follow him to the backyard where he pulled 2 cans of Bud light out of a cooler, which was located next to the beer pong table. Oh holy f*ck, I’m at a frat party. And really beer in a can?! Sigh. I refused to make eye contact with Taylor, who was now pinching my arm, since I knew exactly what her look was going to say. I was determined to try and make the best of the situation, so I finished my can of beer and dragged Taylor with me on a hunt for some real liquor, while Miguel was busy setting up for beer pong. We found a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen and proceeded to down enough to make us forget we were about to play beer pong in heels.
After the night of the "party," I decided Miguel was just too young for me and I was going to blow him off. He didn’t make it quite that easy. He could tell I wasn’t thrilled with his age, the party, etc., and insisted I let him take me to dinner again. He was very persistent so I finally agreed. I began to think I may have been wrong to judge, that perhaps despite his age and attire, he was a guy worth giving a chance to. Then I met him at the restaurant he suggested for our date, and walked into a “Taco Tuesday” themed night where the tacos were 3 for a dollar, and drunk people were already spilling their beers on me as I walked by. When I found Miguel he gave me a hug and introduced me to his friend from work, who was apparently joining us for dinner. Umm, first of all, tacos aren’t dinner and not only does inviting a friend from work make this no longer a date, but this friend was a female who had the most obvious crush on him. Really?! Why did I agree to this and why was the double shot of tequila I’d ordered not here yet?! After enduring as much as I could take of feeling like a third wheel on my own date, I told Miguel I had to get home. He looked slightly surprised and told me he’d call me later.
Miguel did try calling but I never called him back. I decided I’d prefer to carry on solo in my journey of finding a man who: A) doesn’t look like he rides a skateboard to work, B) agrees that 5 people playing beer pong is NOT a party, and C) who understands that a date is not an appropriate place to invite a female coworker who clearly wants to see you naked.
No comments:
Post a Comment