Dear Tiny,
We had a good thing going there for a while. You were funny and interesting and I was quite looking forward to our date. As we all know I'm hard to wrangle down and you were persistent without scaring me away.
Pressure and over eagerness sends me a packin.
You tell me to meet you at The Other Room in the West Village. Sounds good. I hit up my friends beforehand to kill time. If I try going home to Brooklyn and coming back in on a weeknight there better be more than a few drinks on the line. My one friend has been to this bar before and says, "It's really dark in there." Great. I'm completely blind in the dark. I've begun to text my outfit as a precaution, because no one likes walking into a place looking like they're lost. Add meeting a total stranger into that mix and you're a deer in the headlights.
I walk in and sure enough I can not see. I text Tiny and in no time he's walking up. Cute. Looks like his picture. Opens the door to the bar takes a step up and um something isn't right. Oh. There's only one step up and I am Tinderzilla.
We have a few drinks and I genuinely enjoy myself, but I can't be bothered to bend down for a kiss. I will stand on my toes and strain my neck any night of the week, but the opposite will not suffice.
Good luck Tiny. It's a tall world out there, but I have no doubt you'll find a sweet little Tinderbell to make you happy in that amazing West Village apartment you have. I didn't go there if you're wondering. He showed me pictures of it.
xoxo
BWinTBC
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