Dear Beverly Hills,
I think you would make a really great first husband. I know I met you at a bar and that’s not where you are supposed to meet any of your husbands, but at least it wasn’t JDate.
I understood that you really liked me from the start because you invited me to that professional sports team’s game that you have season tickets for. You then told me you had to see me again before you left for your European spring break (how people manage spring breaks after college is still a mystery to me, but I like it).
We emailed your whole trip which kinda creeped me out, but I really enjoy your super expensive car and sweet penthouse apartment with its own valet. When you got back, I lurved that super fancy dinner in Beverly Hills, despite you being an annoyingly picky eater (who doesn’t eat sushi in LA?!).
We schtupped and it was good enough that I would say yes to your bank account, but not good enough that I would feel bad when leaving you. Is that really harsh? I’m sorry, I mean you are cute, less cute than me, but isn’t that how it is with most guys and girls? You are also super sarcastic which I enjoy, and I am entertained by the fact that we joyfully argue over everything the other one says.
We met up again, but after, we only texted and didn’t see each other for two weeks…and then ended up at the same bar on Saturday night. I had a mini freak out, because this was my weekend to make new friends and having you there totally cramped my style. But I also didn’t feel like saying hi; major life dilemma. I just did not want to go up to you and your friends and say something along the lines of “hey, fancy seeing you here.” So instead I stealthily maneuvered my way around the bar avoiding any potential contact. After that got old, my friend and I left to go to Chateau Marmont (much chicer crowd anyway).
You then texted me 30 minutes later saying, “Hey I think I just saw you leaving the bar.” Did I mention I was also wearing the same dress I wore when you took me to the Beverly Hills dinner? My worst nightmare!! There was no way you could see me in that dress again for at least another 6 months (even though it is super cute and from Bloomies, and also makes my ass look great—probably why you noticed me leaving. Boys are such pervs).
But I played dumb really well (it’s a life skill) saying, “Omg you were there?! Good job saying hi, ass.” (Guilt tripping people is one of my favorite pastimes). You then told me, “I thought you were avoiding me haha.” Umm I totally was, and you obviously picked up on my vibes (boys are usually really unperceptive, so I’m not sure how this happened). But I just said the bar was lame and I needed some Chateau to make me feel better about the night. Communication has been semi-awkward since, but so is life….
Too bad we didn’t meet 5 years from now, because getting married in my 20s is against my religion and it’s so 1956. But if you feel like taking me to Nobu next week, call me. I also apologize if you think you are 2nd or 3rd husband material but I can’t even think that far ahead at this point. Some girl friends and I (including D) already decided around the tender age of 19 that we would have to get married at least twice, FYI.
Moral of the story, when dating around, you should have a full team of friends/secret spies scoping out any potential bar/restaurant/club before you arrive, so no unexpected run-ins ensue.
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