Saturday, January 15, 2011

Trust me, I'm a Vet

Sometimes, when I've had too much to drink, I give my number to men I am terribly UNinterested in. I don't know if beer goggles are to blame or if alcohol makes me nice, but if I've had a few too many cocktails, chances are good I'll put my digits in your phone if you ask.

For example, last Friday my friend Kara and I went to a pub on the Lower East Side. Our liquor is always poured with a heavy hand at this pub because in college we each dated everyone who either owned, bartended, or frequented regularly it. It's like an incestual assembly every time we visit.

At this particular reunion, we've had several potent vodka tonics and I am talking to a legit geek: velcro hair, thicker than coke bottle bifocals, a too tight superhero T-shirt, and ill-fitting faded jeans bunched together by a belt complete with a seatbelt buckle. His skin could use a once-over by a dermatologist, but I like the conversation we are having about pets. He leads me to believe he is a veterinarian, so I tell him silly stories about my dog.

Soon Kara pulls me away, nearly dislocating my shoulder.

"Why the eff are you talking to that nasty fool?!" she screams.

But Kara is seconds too late. I already caved and punched my number into his Blackberry.

Since we're familiar with this pub, we scamper down the back stairs, sprint through the basement, climb the front stairs, and make our escape right out the front door.

We are safe.

We go to a birthday party half a mile up 1st Avenue and forget about my plight. Kara buys us a few grapefruit tequila shots and in my haze, a familiar-ish face appears out of nowhere.

"Hey, Kate!"

The geeky vet found us. This time, his friend talks my ear off and it becomes apparent that the poindexter is not a veterinarian, but an undergrad student hoping to one day go to vet school. Big deal, maybe one day I'd like to become a millionaire plastic surgeon, but I don't go around telling that to strangers in bars. I am disgusted by this lying child, so Kara and I just go home.

The next day, I get a text that reads: "Hey Kate, it's Andy, the vet guy. Want to go to dinner with me?"

I don't respond and hope I'll never hear from him again, but two days later I get another text: "I'd still like to take you to dinner, Kate! Let me know what day is good for you."

I'm reminded of all the times a guy has let me down or not responded to my reaching out. Love (or lack thereof) has made me evil. I do not want to make Andy feel like that. I decide to do the right thing.

"Hi Andy! I am really sorry but initially I didn't realize you are still an undergrad and I am not really interested in going out with someone several years younger than me."

And just to drive home my point that he is too young, immature, and ignorant for my liking, he responds, "22, and I am going to vet school the semester after next. Your loss, Kate. See ya, have a good one!"

I really need to change my phone number and NOT memorize it.

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