Tonight we went to Kettner Night (way cool art shows in shops all down the street) and then were a little peckish, so we went to our local pub, where the bartender is really nice and his fiance is a graphic designer and stayed home tonight to take care of their dog whose tooth got pulled today ($1100--another good reason to stick with borrow puppies) because it broke when the dog mistook a rock for a tennis ball (at 9 p.m., when we get there, we can talk to the bartender, by 10 he's too busy, by 11 the place is packed--Justin says that's how you can tell it's a good place. I think it's a good place because I don't have to get all dressed up for it and we can walk there.)
As we were leaving, I momentarily lost Justin. It wasn't that crowded and I wasn't running out the door or anything, but when I got near it and was ready to let him open it (he likes being chivalrous, and I like being treated like a princess just as much as I like being a feminist) he wasn't there.
And then he was.
Outside, he said, "Some girl just said to me, 'I met you on myspace, huh?' and I said, 'What?' and she repeated the exact same phrase I thought she said, 'I met you on myspace, huh?' and I said, 'That must have been somebody else.'"
I sort of guffawed, I mean really. "Did you just get hit on by a 13 year old?"
"I don't know, she had her hair in her eyes and all, and then when she asked again she pushed it out of the way and said, 'I met you on myspace, huh?' I kind of didn't know what to do with myself. It's one thing to get smiled at--it's the red shirt (it's really salmon colored--Justin just interjected, "Pink by your measure!") I've been getting smiles all night--but to get directly hit on like that..."
"And I'm going to go home and blog about it. So I'm, like, 12."
(He's still arguing with me about the color of the shirt--while I've been typing he's held up a peach candle and a picture of love birds with hearts on it (from a post-it note pad of ready made love notes I have), quizzing me about colors. I should take the shirt to Reed Cardwell's art class and ask what color it really should be called.)
And that's the story of our night. I met some cool people, but no one actually hit on me. I think it's because I'm having a bad hair day. Stupid curls. Stupid humidity. Stupid myspace girl. ("And it was the girl that was standing right behind us the whole time," he said. "I didn't know what to do, not that I would have done anything, but with my wife right there... I just got all flustered.")
He's a keeper. :)