***"Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!"
LiLu, pretty much any given Thursday . . . :)
Years ago, I used to work for directory enquiries. I'm sure I mentioned this before. It's not particularly interesting. When I started working there though, I was in a training group of about fourteen or fifteen people. Around ten of the group were male and, by the end of my first six months or so there, about half of those guys had asked me out at some point. Including a guy who was married.
I'd never been so popular with guys in my life (with the possible exception of the past six months or so) - I can only assume female "talent" in the office was thin on the ground.
Anyway, one of the guys who HADN'T asked me out became a good friend. Although sometimes . . . I got that "vibe" from him. You know, the vibe where you think "he likes me". The way he looked at me sometimes. Or the fact he subscribed very much to that whole "pulling pigtails in the playground" mentality. Since I wasn't remotely interested in him in that way though, I tried to ignore it, and hoped it would go away.
A couple of weeks later, a couple of us from work went out for drinks in Glasgow city centre on a Friday night. There was me, the guy I just mentioned, one of my friends from uni (who had just so happened to be in town) and another girl I worked with. This girl . . . how do I describe her? She was nice enough . . . but, MAN, she was hard work. Like I couldn't complain about anything because she always was more hard-done-by than I was . . . according to her. One of my other colleagues used to call her "The Poison Dwarf", which I thought was pretty harsh, most of the time. (But it makes a good pseudonym for the purpose of this blog so I will continue to use it all the same...)
On top of that, she liked the guy who liked me. And very much seemed to hold that against me - although she tried to pretend she didn't. Sometimes . . .
So that night we all got pretty drunk and The Poison Dwarf became very paranoid. At one point we went to the loos together and she decided the guy was about to get off with my friend. I assured her nothing could be further from the truth. But when my friend left, she visibly perked up. She next suggested we would go to an Italian restaurant owned by friends of her family. I wasn't really that hungry - I was that level of drunkenness where I no longer cared if I ever ate again so long as there was more alcohol. But I was also at the level where I couldn't be bothered objecting. So off we went to the restaurant where, to the Poison Dwarf's mortification, I ALLEGEDLY virtually fell asleep in my plate of spaghetti carbonara.
But I must have managed to eat SOME of it . . .
We called it a night after the meal and I made to head to Glasgow Central station for my train back to my folk's, where I lived at the time. TPD was heading in the opposite direction, to Queen Street station. The guy was heading for a bus stop which could have been in EITHER direction. Much to TPD's disgust, he chose to head in MY direction. I could see her shooting me what she must have assumed was covert dirty looks. Considering I'm never particularly observant, AND was wasted and still noticed them, they couldn't have been THAT covert.
Anyway, me and this guy had been walking for about two minutes, with me drunkenly rambling (and desperately hoping he wouldn't try and make a move) when suddenly I FELT it. That horrible sinking feeling where your stomach starts rising, the contents of it heading for fresh air via your mouth. I stopped suddenly on the side of the street.
"I think . . . " I murmured, swaying from side to side slightly. "I think I'm going to be si . . ."
Too late. The spaghetti carbonara I had barely digested came back up. Mainly on the street, but some of it landed on the guy's shoes. Much to my utter mortification. Worse, I'd apparently been swallowing spaghetti whole as strands of it were getting stuck in my throat on the way back out and I was actually having to physically PULL them out. Yuck.
(That was the TMI bit of the post by the way - in case you hadn't guessed. Reading about puke is NEVER nice. And for that, I apologise.)
(I also apologise it took me so long to get to the point...)
I was completely embarrassed by my drunken behaviour. Who cared that I didn't fancy this guy, that didn't mean I wanted to make an utter fool of myself in front of him and PUKE on him!!! Weirdly enough though, he just laughed.
And about two weeks later, he asked me out.
I still said no.
But apparently, puking on a guy proved in this case to ADD to my attractiveness.
Probably best NOT to try this as a pulling technique though. It's probably a little risky . . .