The Stranger.
The Stranger.
Johnny and I are standing in line for the bar at The Surly Goat praying the sexy brunette bartender in the daisy dukes notices us.
Suddenly a hand grabs my shoulder. Delirious, I turn around and I see a girl, a normal, average, run of the mill girl. I have never seen this girl before but I already know she is nothing special.
Without warning she presses her face against mine and starts kissing me. I reluctantly reciprocate. There is no passion between us. Her lips are dry. No Tongue is utilized. Between smacks I utter,
“I.”
Smooch.
“Don’t.”
Smooch.
“Know.”
Smooch.
“You.”
She quickly pulls away and disappears back into the crowd. I turn back to Johnny and mumble, “That was weird.”
* * *
Why did she do that? I cannot rack my brain around it. Why did this random individual grab me and start kissing me? Did she mistake me for someone else? Did she recognize me? Maybe I didn’t recognize her? Was it a dare? It was a girl, right? Admittedly I was approaching blackout status, so anything is possible. I guess stranger things have happened.
I wonder if she remembers what she did. I wonder is she is now chatting with her friends, incredulous by her brazen behavior…
She wanted him and with confidence she glided toward the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Their lips locked and she was overcome with emotion, her body was pulsating with energy. She could not believe what she had just done. She pulled away in amazement, longing to share a look at the man she so tenaciously claimed, but he was disinterested. He quickly turned back to his friend; oblivious to the amount of courage it took this poor girl. And so, on this night her heart was broken…
Or maybe it was a sick and twisted game; a bet to find the most pathetic and ugly guy at the bar and kiss him in public. Probably make the little guy’s night; shit, probably make his entire week. He’ll probably waste time retelling the stupid story of how some girl made out with him at the bar, exaggerating and glorifying the story with each passing telling. Soon the normal girl becomes a butterscotch blonde and the kiss evolves into a public finger blasting.
The dream of the dweebs: go to a bar and be an anti-social, loser, curmudgeon, misfit, but still get the hot babe at the end of the night.
And yet another possibility is that she doesn’t even remember; an act so insignificant in the grand scheme of life that it probably is best to just forget the whole thing.
Still, I dwell on the mundane and the asinine. The wackness of life. All of my concerns are petty and selfish. I swear I have good intentions. The inadvertent narcissist. But, hey, I made out with a random chick at one of my favorite bars, so all things considered, it was a pretty good night.