Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Bean-O (Or, A Story So Old It Hurts)
Once upon a time (ten years ago, exactly), I lived in Boston. Well, I actually lived in Boston from 1994-1999, but the story I'm about to relate is decidedly from 1997.
In the summer of 1997, I was newly single after a long relationship. I found myself out on the town (as much as one can be in that town), drinking it up in a variety of locales that I'd previously had no use for since I was committed, married, a co-owner of furniture and artwork, all that. I was unused to going to gay bars alone and ended up talking to anyone who spoke to me first.
Anyway, one of the first times someone flirted with me/chatted me up/tried to pick me up was a harrowing experience to say the least. Here's how it went down (keep in mind: Boston):
STRANGER: Heah, how are ya?
ME: What's up?
STRANGER: You aaaah wicked cute. Whaaaat is yaaaah naame?
STRANGER: Hiyah Trevaaah. My name's Maaaaag.
STRANGER: (laughs) No. M-A-AAAA-K
ME: Oh, hi Mark.