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About a week ago, while out at dinner with my girlfriends, I had to run to my car to grab my phone.  We had been there for about an hour already, and if it wasn’t for me needing to show them something, I would have just left it in there.

During the quick 3 minutes that I was outside, a guy approached them asking whether I was single.  When I sat back down, the girls excitedly told me that there was a guy at the bar who thought I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, and wanted to buy me a drink. 

I was overwhelmed, more than I was flattered.

There was nothing (sadly, and perhaps shallowly), about this guy that even piqued my interest after a quick glace to the bar.

My heart was telling me that it was disloyal to my stand, and more importantly, to God.  It felt wrong.  It felt inappropriate.  I can’t quite explain it and I’m sure the person who has never been in my shoes, won’t understand. 

I remember asking the girls in a panic about whether accepting a drink from someone I had no interest in was rude or selfish–like it’d lead him in a hopeful direction.  I told them I felt politely rejecting his offer was more appropriate, although that felt cold, too.

What rejection is more palatable – finding out after you spend $25 on a round of drinks, or having a woman say “no thanks” outright?  Does one sting less than the other?  Oh, how my mind was racing.

I had no time to continue analyzing because not one, but two, waitresses excitedly came over to announce, “A guy at the bar wants to buy you ladies a round of drinks!” And by “announce,” I’m not kidding – I was convinced the entire small restaurant could hear them.

I think my face was still white as a ghost, and then shades of red at all once, if even that is possible.

I deferred my uncertainty onto them for a second opinion.  “Take the drink – who cares” they both said.

No one contemplates protocol apparently, although who knows if it exists for a situation like this.

Well, acceptance of the drinks meant that “Jimmy” (oy!) was entitled to a conversation. I’ll give him an A+ for boldness and confidence.

He started the introduction in a way that was eerily reminiscent of how I introduced myself to Jay for the first time, now that I look back on it.  He saved me for last.

After the round-robin of exchanging first names, he then said, “kids?” to my first girlfriend-to which she said, “yes.” Same question to, and response from, my second girlfriend.  You guessed it – “kids?” he asked me.

Now just wait right there. 

What an invasive second question!  I quickly processed that saying “yes” likely meant that I was married before, and the fact that I was now single only meant one thing– that I’m now divorced.  Broken. Tossed aside. Rejected.  While I’m most definitely NOT ashamed of my kids, this is something I’m not ready to own, especially to a strange man at my table. “Yes,” I said anyway.

“I have kids, too” Jimmy proudly offered. “But I don’t have them this weekend, which is why I’m here.”  He’s a state-the-obvious-type guy.  He then explained that he’s Scottish (which the girls found charming; I, on the other hand, did not).  I think he may have offered that he has sister(s) and affirmed he’s a good guy, and “normal.”  His boldness seemed anything but to me…

He then confidently said, while looking me squarely in the eyes, “I’d love to get your number so we can go out sometime.  I’d love to get to know you.” 

Gulp.  Now what??

Saying no doesn’t get any easier with time.

I should have declined the drink, I knew it!  Now I’m extra-schmucky for accepting a drink from a guy who thought it’d be a good investment, and here I was drinking the drink at the same time I was about to say no, yet couldn’t.  It seemed too harsh.  Too cruel.  Too ungodly.

Instead, I awkwardly said, “I’ll think about it.”  Ummm, what?  Corey, who says that?!  There was nothing that could change my mind, and I certainly wasn’t trying to initiate a round of mind games, or flirt or tease, with a Scottish laddie.

He responded, “Ok, I’ll be up at the bar.  You know where to find me.”

Yes, Jimmy, I know where to find you.  You’re sitting directly in front of me; so close, I could hit you with a spit wad and I’m not even a good shot.

So for the next hour, he waited…and waited…and waited.  All while looking back trying to make “eyes” every 5 minutes. It took a male friend joining us for a drink for Jimmy to get hint. He finally left, and my Spidey senses rescued me. The minute he started packing up, was the same minute I stared into my lap pretending to play on my phone like a coward.