Raya Pickett

A few weekends ago I was out with some girlfriends for a night of dancing.  We hit up several clubs, but nothing really struck our fancy so we ended up meeting some guy friends at a local Mexican bar/restaurant.

A bunch of guys were there playing life-size Jenga, which I hadn’t seen before I moved out here but I’ve noticed is quite popular.  I’ve seen it at several different places when I’ve been out and about.

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I wanted to play, but needed a partner and none of my girlfriends wanted in. 

Enter: Muscles.

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He came to the rescue and offered to be my partner, obviously having earned his name (in my head, only) for being very muscular.  He was easily 6’2” and 220lbs all muscle.  If we had had a first date, I would have been forced-by my own curiosity and mouth diarrhea- to ask him if he has ever taken steroids.  Considering the effects steroids can have on certain body parts, I believe I have a right to know.   

Muscles’ real name was Charlie, except he pronounced it Chahhhlie.

Only he wasn’t British, he was from Long Island. 

Before it was our turn to play, Muscles and I sat on bar stools and chatted for a bit.  I probably should have left when I sat on the barstool and my knee hit his leg.  Here’s why:

He said “ow!”

I laughed because I thought he was kidding. 

He looked at me and said “no, really, you hit me right there (pointing to his thigh) and it hurt.” 

He wasn’t kidding.

I ordered another beer.

He suggested we play a game he called “Five Questions.”  He explained it to me while I stared at him, and apparently he thought I didn’t understand the game so he explained it again.  When in fact, I was just wondering why it was called a game when it was really just two people asking each other five questions.

While we exchanged questions-favorite food? favorite memory? major in college?- I privately debated the long-term potential of someone whose favorite food was “grilled chicken.”

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Then he proclaimed that at some point my finger had “hit him in the eye” and hurt him.  Again, I stared at him blankly wondering how my finger even got near his face. (I’m pretty sure it didn’t). And also wondering how such a big guy could be such a baby.

Strike two? three? I was losing count by now.

We played Jenga, and we lost.  But not on my watch, thankyouverymuch.  He asked if he could kiss me and I said no.

He then asked me where I wanted to go on our first date.

Me: “I really like restaurants.”

Muscles: “How about mini golf?”

Strike one million. FORE. Something.

Now, I did give him my number because let’s be honest-all other things (like, brains) aside, he was cute and had an awesome body. Perhaps he’s just not good at flirting. Or talking in general. 

I try to give second chances.

I also volunteer.

However, the next morning I began feeling anxious that he would call because, you see, I’m just getting to that point where I enjoy being single and I’m happy with the way things are.  I don’t want anyone to mess that up.

Luckily for me, he didn’t call.  It was probably because I rolled my eyes when he suggested mini-golf.  I couldn’t help it, I really like restaurants. 

Although today my heart did skip a few beats when a number I didn’t recognize popped up on my caller ID. 

Thankfully it was just my new car insurance agent.

Crisis averted.