Tra and la! I met a boy! Well, I mean, I always meet boys, because I’m hot. But this is a boy that I can tell my friends about and make them feel jealous! So maybe I should start again:
Tra and la! I met a boy-I-can-tell-my-friends-about-and-make-them-feel-jealous!
Let me set the scene. My friend Carmen (by “friend” I mean a hot girl I met two weeks ago and haven’t yet known long enough for us to start hating each other) invited me to her friend’s party (probably because she didn’t want to look bad by going alone). Her friend is a writer, and Carmen told me there were going to be a lot of writer guys there. Immediately my expectations for the party dropped through the floor. “Writer” = low non-steady income (if any), embarrassingly futile attempts to be fashionable by wearing a blazer with a T-shirt, and in general not someone I want to be associated with, because my association with them has no potential to make my friends jealous.
I know what you’re thinking: “But Amy, aren’t you a writer?” Yes, I am. A working writer. I write for the Yelp Elite Squad. Try asking those writer guys who they’re writing for. Hope you like staring at a blazer and T-shirt in silence.
Carmen and I headed to the apartment in Chelsea, and before we even walked in the door I could tell it was gonna be one of those parties where no guy is on my level. Absolutely no potential date material here. I don’t even have to look inside to know this, or talk to a single person. I just know. It’s a special talent we hot girls have.
Speaking of hot girl talents, another talent we have is shutting down guys before they even start talking to us. Hey guys, you ever notice that the moment you start thinking about approaching a hot girl at a party, she walks away or hugs another guy or gets on the phone? Not an accident. Next time don’t even think about it and save us both some time.
Unfortunately there are still a few loopholes in this preemptive shut down method, one of them being if you don’t even know the guy is there. And that’s how I fail to preemptively shut down Nick. I’m standing by myself at the food tray because I’m hungry (and I’m also pretending to text so it doesn’t look like I’m standing alone). Suddenly I hear a guy behind me say:
“Back away from that tray, ma’am. Do not take a step closer.”
Ha ha ha, what a funny writer you are. Back away from me and do not take a step closer. I look around to find a gay guy I can hug, and I catch a glimpse of the person who’d spoken to me.
Omigod. He’s cute enough to make my friends jealous! But hold on, is he a loser? I allow myself five seconds to talk to him so I can judge this.
“But if I don’t eat this, what else is there?” I say.
“I can make you an olive with mustard,” he says. “But just one olive.”
Omg he insulted me! He must not be a loser, because loser guys (i.e. 99.99% of them) don’t insult me!
Omg omg omg! I met a cute guy who insulted me!
Nick and I start talking, but in my head I’m focused on the calculation all hot girls face when they meet a guy: what’s the farthest I need to go with this guy to maximize my friends’ jealousy while avoiding my friends’ criticism that I “went too far”? Make out? Bj? Further?
My initial calculation is that we’re at least gonna kiss, so I leave the party with him. As we’re walking down 6th Ave., I see a sugar delivery truck, and I steer Nick over to it because I know we can have a romantic moment where there’s sugar flying through the air and we kiss through the cloud of sugar and then I can tell my friends about it and make them feel bad that they didn’t have such a romantic moment.
When we get to Nick’s place, I finally make my decision: I’ll sleep with him because I see him as long-term material. That is, someone who can make my friends jealous in the long term.
It’s gonna be so fun telling my friends about this over $27 craft cocktails!
