Part 2 of 3

Um, yes...you read that correctly. While I'm finally posting another installment, you will have another waiting period before you get the ending. But, you have to forgive My Thing because he has been really busy at work and then spent three days taking care of me and besides he's really cute and really good in bed...
Um, yeah. Nevermind about that.
Though, he is.
And I get to sleep with him.

Oh, yes...the story. For those who missed Part 1, as a present for my blog's 1 year Anniversary last week, The Thing agreed to write a post for me. I told him he could make the topic anything he wanted and being the completely adorable romantic that he is, he chose to describe, in his own words, the night we met.

And please don't give me too much shit about my own pitiful description about the night we met and how I left out all the juicy details. You're hearing them now, and that's what matters, isn't it?
Besides, he tells it so much better anyway....

Part 2:

Taller Girl is standing behind me, just to my left. She is standing awfully close. Is she crowded? I move up slightly… let her get a good look at MY back.

I think to myself, she’s just being polite; probably had already touched Thing 2’s elbow too – letting us both know she’s made the trek all the way from the back of the bar.

I get back to the show. The band is good. The drummer looks like she hasn’t eaten in a month, but damn if she doesn’t sing well. The band rocks on.

Then, for whatever reason, I get this silly thought in my head - “I think this girl likes me.” I can’t imagine why. I wasn’t dressed up, I don’t remember saying anything remotely charming and I certainly was in no way, flirting with her back there at the bar.

But regardless, I now felt that I’d “won” something. Was this a victory within some kind of male dominance battle that I wasn’t even consciously participating in? (I should point out that at no point during the evening, did I get the vibe that Thing 2 was interested in the Taller Girl whatsoever or that I was behaving “inappropriately”.)

I smile for a moment.

But then I realize I can’t remember her name. Great. She’s “chosen” me and I can’t remember her name. Remembering anything - other than watching for the 1 AM deadline we’d given the cab driver to come pick us up - was not part of the plan.

I turn to my left and gently scream “Where’s your friend?” into her ear. She cups her mouth, draws into my ear and says something. The only thing I can hear is a hammer - mentally whacking my brain - as I try to remember who the hell is standing next to me. I nod. The band rocks on.

Now I have to use the bathroom. But I hesitate. If I leave, will the space next to her - where I now stand - be here when I get back? And why was I so concerned about that all of the sudden?

I wait as long as I can, swallow the last of my beer and quietly scoot off to the right of the stage. I stand at the urinal, staring at the scribble on the wall, hoping something would appear that jostles her name from my head. I can’t believe I can’t remember her name. Or how many kids she has. Or what she does for a living. Or what her back looks like.

I come back and she’s right where I left her.

“I’m going to get a drink – anyone want anything?” I announce to/ask Thing 2 and Taller Girl. Thing 2 says “No thanks” and Taller Girl says “I’ll come with you”.

So we head back through the crowd, and find Shorter Girl right where I’d last seen her – next to the bar. She is sober and her husband is even more so. I order another drink. Taller Girl, Shorter Girl and her husband pass. We all talk. I hope that Shorter Girl calls out Taller Girl’s name so I can latch onto it but it doesn’t happen. I never make it back to Thing 2 or the band.

Thing 2 eventually comes to the back. His timing is perfect - it’s almost 1 AM and our scheduled cab ride is approaching. I feel bad that I left him up at the front so I volunteer to go outside and wait for the cab so that both of us don’t have to.

I grab my jacket and head out into the cold. It’s 1AM and there’s no cab waiting for us as promised. I walk up and down the street to keep warm, but still no cab. I send a couple of text messages to Thing 2 – most of them are detailed fantasies about me having sex with his mom. It’s cold. I’m happy. I think a girl likes me.

It’s 1:15 and I still don’t see our cab, so I head back inside.

My phone vibrates. It’s a text message from Thing 2, who is standing just to my right. Probably something about him having sex with my mom. It’s not.

“Taller Girl wants your phone number.”

I look up from my phone, embarrassed. Taller girl is smiling. Her friend sent me the message from Thing 2’s phone. I wasn’t expecting that.

Fauve’s note: Neither was I. Shorter Girl (who I have blogged about before, calling her Girlfriend) did not tell me what this text message said until after she hit Send. The ‘smile’ of mine was more out of embarrassment then anything else. However, considering how things turned out, we buy Shorter Girl/Girlfriend presents often. Seriously.

The next few minutes involve me pulling out a business card and writing my cellular phone number on the back of it. As I do, I think to myself: “You told her you don’t live in Pittsburgh, right?” She does the same. I turn the card around and see her name. Of course: Taller Girl. Why couldn’t I remember that?

Thing 2 meanwhile has gotten back his phone, has gone outside and tries to call the cab company to see where the fuck our cab is.

Shorter Girl announces that she and her husband have to get going and it was a real pleasure meeting blah blah blah blah blah. I wait for Taller Girl to get up, put on her jacket and leave with them. That doesn’t happen. The couple leaves.

Moments later, Thing 2 comes back to the bar and says, “The cab is here.” I turn back to the bar where Taller Girl is still sitting; she’s still not wearing her jacket.

“Hey.”, I say then pause for what seems like minutes, “Would you like to come and hang out with Thing 2 and I at his place?”
I cringe, knowing the answer will be either “I’d love to but I can’t tonight” or “I should probably be getting home.”

She pauses for what seems like hours.

“Sure.”

TO BE CONTINUES….