A little thing called Flattery

Clearly I’m out of the game. Let’s not be stupid and pretend that I’ve not been living under a rock for the better part of the past decade. It’s true – Rock met Sam, Rock fell on Sam’s head and Sam just stayed under it.  Don’t ask me why (almost seven years later) I’m deciding to crawl out from under neath it. Perhaps I was starved for life and it only took me that long to realize it? Or perhaps it was the gradual realization of starvation and finally I was just too hungry anymore. After all, people who starve don’t go to bed fat and jolly one evening and wake up the next morning with their bones protruding from their taught skin that’s holding them together. They slowly deteriorate into nothingness. At least I caught myself before I fully died.

So, this thing called “flattery”. It’s an evil little bitch of a thing and I’m still not quite sure how to take it. For example, I was hanging out with some very good friends at a local bar. Upon drinking a few beers I, as every normal female with a bladder the size of a pea, excused myself from the shuffleboard table and walked to the bathroom. It was very awkward as I walked across the bar towards the bathroom: everyone was staring at me. Do I have something on my face? I thought to myself. Maybe I have something on my shirt? I thought as I discreetly whipped down the front of me. As I arrived at the bathroom I first checked the mirror. Nothing was on my face. I did the twist and turn to check out my back – no, nothing there either. What was it?

Disclosure: I was in work clothes (purple, white, red and black multi-colored skirts) and a black, three quarters length shirt revealing no cleavage. There were a ton of girls in this bar dressed to the max (and by that I mean they looked like total prostitutes…wtf ladies, really?)

I went to the bathroom, washed my hands (side note: damn you, people, wash your damn hands. [two girls in the bathroom definitely didnt] It prevents the spread of diseases!) and headed back to the other side of the bar. Of course, it happened again. Men, women – it didn’t matter. They all just stared. I was sure that I made sure I didn’t have anything that would flag attention on my way back…what the hell is going on?

I get back to the shuffleboard and, I guess I had a funny face or something – but, here comes the flattery.

Said friend said, “You’re business hot. And you’re hot. Just get over it.” (may be slightly different, but that’s the generality of what he said)

….I don’t get it.

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