Terrible chat-up line number one: are you free tonight or will it cost me?
That one lands me a gin tonic in the face. Note to self: never start with a prostitute reference. Surely the night can only improve from here on in?
So I walk over to the dance floor and make my move on a busty brunette shaking her bubble-butt. Our eyes connect and at the end of the song she follows me to the bar where I correctly guess she’s in the mood for a cosmo. Words have not been uttered up to that point. Just glances that imply that if I play my cards right I get lucky.
Enter terrible chat-up line number two. I’m new in town, can you give me directions to your apartment?
Clearly unimpressed by my improv skills the brunette finishes the cosmo in a single chug. This is getting more pathetic by the minute.
I’m willing to throw in the towel when I overhear the macho next to me hitting on a redhead.
“Nice shoes. Wanna fuck?”
It is a terrible, terrible chat-up line. The third of the evening but at least it’s not me saying it. Yet the redhead plunges her tongue into his mouth, grabs his hand and guides him to the exit.
“Wow! I can’t believe that worked!” I stammer to myself.
“She’s a slut,” explains a voice next to me. “She’d made up her mind before he said a thing.”
The voice belongs to an elegant blonde with bright blue eyes that beg for a witty reply.
“A shame the same trick won’t work on you then,” I say.
The blonde smiles. She’s made up her mind.
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