Welcome back for your weekly dose of awkward. Apparently we shouldn’t be allowed to interact with the opposite sex this week (or we wish they wouldn’t interact with us!). So gird your loins and read on at your own risk.
I recently attended an event, where I was hit on pretty heavily by an older guy, probably in his 30s. He kept making sly comments referring to how I was going to go home with him.
“Oh, you don’t want me to go home with you,” I said.
“Why not?” he replied, thinking I was being coy.
“Because I’ll strangle you in your sleep,” I replied, to which he just blinked and walked away.
Turns out he was a plainclothes law enforcement officer. Didn’t get in trouble, though.
ERIN: Can I Buy Your Wife a Drink?
I was out on a bar’s patio on a Saturday night having a drink with Rafiq and his wife, who I must say, was looking pretty hot. The table next to us left, and a guy sat down by himself with a glass of something brown. We are all talking amongst ourselves for about half an hour, when the guy comes over and introduces himself to us. We figured he was tired of being alone, so we are friendly when he shakes our hands one by one. Immediately after introductions, he turns to Rafiq’s wife, points at her, and says, “Can I buy you a drink?” She struggles with words for 5 seconds before answering, “Uh…he’s my husband.” The guy does NOT play it off well and is like, “Oh…uh…have a good night.” He immediately leaves the bar, and we laugh about it for the next ten minutes.
ERIN (again? It’s been a rough week): Gold (iPhone) Digger
Again, at a bar, after I’d had a few drinks. My fairly new boyfriend, who is a programmer, told a joke about how the best way to get a new phone is to drop your current phone down the stairs. I started to reply with, “Oh, I thought it was to sleep with…” I was going to say, “…someone at Apple” but I realized I didn’t even want to joke about sleeping with other people (especially since he knew about the article I was writing this week). I wanted to cancel the joke but it was too late, so instead I finished with, “…a programmer.” He gave me this disapproving look like, “What kind of gold digger are you?” and I just put my head down in shame. When I explained my drunken logic later, he admitted it was kind of cute.
HANNAH: The (Pushy) Church Lady
I recently moved and started attending church with a new congregation. Last Sunday we had a light lunch after the meeting was over, and I volunteered to help set up in hope that I would get to know some new people. Introducing myself and trying to make friends is my worst nightmare, and I was terrified. As I awkwardly wandered through the crowd of unfamiliar faces, one of the women grabbed my arm and said, “You’re not very good at this making friends thing, are you?” I stared at her for a second, mumbled something about being shy, then turned and ran to hide in my car. She meant well, but being called out on how awkward I am in social situations was too much for my introverted heart to handle.
HOPE: Anointing of the Tattoo
I recently got a tattoo on my ankle. The artist was very strict about being hygenic with it, since it’s basically on my foot and will pick up a lot of gunk. “You have to wash this thing like six times a day, AT LEAST, with anti-bacterial soap, none of that mamby-pamby crap.” So I went out and bought the strongest looking soap I could find, and I’ve been carrying it around in my bookbag. But unfortunuately, as I am out of my apartment for the majority of the day, I have to wash on the go. And since it’s on my foot, it’s a little hard to secretly wash in the sink. So I waited until the basement English department bathroom was empty, popped my foot up into the sink and started scrubbing away. No sooner had I turned on the water than a (very old) professor walks in, stares at me, and goes “Child, what on earth are you doing?” As I made weird noises and squeaked out the word “tattoo” she just shook her head, looked to the Heavens like I was crazy, and went about her business.
So how awkward was your week on a scale of this guy thinking anyone cares that he really, really doesn’t want to date “fat” girls and the NY Post writer who is 124 sandwiches from an engagement ring? Tweet us @litdarling
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