The Propositions a Girl Can Get...


... will astound you, or then again, maybe they won't...

I was visiting my mom in the country the weekend of the 6th World Series game. The antenna to the TV wasn't hooked up at the time, so I decided to go to a nearby bar to watch the game.

When I sat down, the guy next to me said hello and started talking to me. I wasn't "interested" in him, but since I wasn't with anyone else, I continued our chitchat, provided within doing so I could still pay attention to the game. I made it clear to him that's why I was there in the first place.

After some time, I began to sense this guy was kind of liking me. My brother taught me not to be mean to guys when I'm not interested: "Everyone has feelings and rejection is unpleasant." So instead of saying, "Listen, buddy -- nothing's going to happen between us, so buzz off!" I was polite, and continued to chat, between innings, trying not to lead him on. 

By about the fifth inning, he was definitely liking me, despite my nonchalantness. How do I know this? Because he said to me, "I think you're an attractive... [glanced at my chest]... um, extremely attractive woman, and I'd like to get to know you better." He continued, "I really go for blondes with blue eyes."

"My eyes are green, and I'm not a natural blonde." To this he said, "Oh, yeah? Prove it!" as he motioned toward my crotch. Did I get offended? Nah, but now it was time to drop some non-subtle hints:

"I can't go out with you because I only go out with vegetarians. Sorry!" (I knew he wasn't one.)

He thought about my statement for a moment, and then replied, "I really like you -- I'll be a vegetarian for you."

Okay, that didn't fly, so let's try this: "You might think you like me because you're attracted to me, but we really don't have anything in common." He asked what my interests were, and I replied, "Photography, collecting antiques, tailoring clothes, and writing stories for my website about jerks like you." (Only kidding about that last thing.)

"So, what are your interests?" I asked half-heartedly, to illustrate my point.

Enthused, he replied, "I like karate, working out, and hunting." A hunter and a vegetarian -- nice mix!

Instead of being repulsed by the hunting aspect, my morbid curiosity kicked in, and I questioned, "Hunting? What do you hunt -- deer?"


"How do you hunt a deer?"

"Well, first I stalk it, and then I shoot it."

"Don't you feel bad when you shoot and kill it?"

"No, it's just an animal." Real sensitive guy here.

"Uh, huh. Then what?"

"I field dress it."

"What's 'field dress'?"

"That's when you slit its stomach from between its legs up to its ribs, remove the insides, pull the intestine out through the asshole, and drain the blood. I keep the heart, and put it in a bag." That's a truly attractive picture you've just painted, thank you ever so much.

"Don't you get blood all over your hands?"

"I wear gloves."

"Where do you put the insides?"

"I leave them in the woods for other animals to eat."

"What do you do with all of the meat?"

"When I get home, I quarter it up, filet it, keep some out, and freeze the rest."

"Do you eat the heart?"

"Oh, yes! I slice it into wafer-thin pieces, bread it, and fry it. It's delicious."

At this point he thought he was really stoking my fires, so he suggestively said, "Tell you what -- I'll take you with me the next time I go hunting. You'll have a good time. You'll love it."

"No, I don't think so."

"Oh, come on -- I know you'll love it."

"Oh, really? How do you know?"

"Because it's relaxing... exciting... natural. But if I take you hunting, it would be hard to concentrate because you'd be the best game in the woods." One can only be amused at come-on lines like these.

After I again declined his offer, he realized his fantasy of the two of us, together in the woods, wasn't gonna happen. So he decided upon a different approach. He leaned toward me and reeled out, "I've got a dick this long [gestured exorbitant distance between hands], and I can show you the time of your life!"

I didn't gasp out, "You... you... pig!" and throw my drink in his face, although that might have been fun (and perfectly justifiable). Instead, I smirked, shook my head, and replied, "That's not quite what I'm looking for."

When the game (baseball, that is) was over and the bar scene was winding down, he asked for my number -- snowball's chance in hell. When I refused, he insisted upon giving me his. Fine, if that'll make him leave without a fuss. I handed him a piece of napkin, but no -- the napkin wasn't good enough for his precious phone number.

He looked around, and then reached for his money on the bar (a $1 and $5 bill). He chose the $5 bill to write his number on. Hey, if you're going to be generous, how 'bout a fifty? I didn't want his five dollars. I had my own $5 bill, which I handed him in exchange. We said our good-byes, and finally, he was on his way.

How would I sum up the evening? Funny (thanks to a plenitude of sleazy advances), informative (despite the gross subject matter), and I was glad the Yankees won.