Hurt Feelings

By Uncle Ralph

I’m not a sensitive guy.  Living in a trailer you can’t be.  But when I do get my feelings hurt, they really get crushed.  I think perhaps I think too much about some things or perhaps I think about the wrong things.  Either way I got my feelings hurt.

I recently went on a business trip to Atlanta.  The kind of trip where you sit in meetings for 10 hours, eat and then go back to your hotel room to contemplate the meaning of your inane existence.  This particular evening after spending two hours flipping through 50 channels with nothing to watch and working hard to avoid those channels I ain’t supposed to watch, I decided to head down to the bar for a Buckhorn beer.

The bar was nearly empty.  I chose an end where I wouldn’t be annoyed by anyone else while I worked over some light beer.  At the other end of the bar was a good looking couple, dressed for a night on the town, having one of those intimate face-to-face conversations that suggest someone is working hard to have more than just a quiet little chat.  The TV over the bar was showing some game with some collage teams running around doing whatever these people do with a ball.  Not really my thing.  I was there for the beer.

I was working through my third beer and glanced down toward the other end of the bar and saw the good-looking couple was no longer a couple.   She now sat alone.  Not only was she alone but she was looking at me.  When she caught my eye she patted the stool next to her – an obvious invitation to join her.  She was hitting on me.

When something like this happens, a million things go through your mind so fast you can hardly think.  What does she want?  Where did the other guy go?  I’m married.   How’s my breath?  I think sometimes all these things can overwhelm a man and a bad decision suddenly becomes rationalized.  I’m a red blooded American boy and to have some attention by a lovely young woman is quite the complement.  Yup, she was hitting on me.  This is something usually reserved by my lovely wife for the second Tuesday of the months with “R”s in them.  I stood up, sucked in my gut , stuck out my chest and did the most manly sauntering possible down to the other end of the bar.  I was ready for a conversation with a pretty girl.  Nothing more.

The first words out her mouth deflated me.  Crushed my little feelings, branded my psyche for life:  “Waaaazz yur sssstory?”   What?!  “Wazzz yur ssstorrry?”   This woman was blato!   Drunk on her but.  She had no idea what she was saying or who she was saying it to.

Oh man, this sucks!  Talk about letting the air out of my balloon!  Now my feelings were really hurt.  Like I said before – Crushed.   I sucked down my beer as fast as I could and headed back to my room with my tail between my legs.  Quite discouraged. 

You see, here’s the problem.  The only time a woman ever hit on me, (besides my lovely wife) she had to be too drunk to know what the heck she was doing.  I’ve learned my lesson.  I’ll order room service from now on.  At least then no one can smash my fantasy of still being an attractive red-blooded American male.

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Copyright September 2008 all rights reserved