I finish up a comedy set for about 18 tourists and realize that the migraine headache I put up with all day is gone. Maybe it is the adrenaline of performing live, the re-focusing of my energy that leads to its demise. Whatever the case, I suddenly feel this unfamiliar zest for life, and since I am still trying to get over someone, I decide to go out.

I meet up with some friends at a predictable, yet entertaining bar on the Upper East Side called Dorrian's Red Hand. I am wearing little make-up, sneakers, and a large baggy knit sweater jacket that covers up any sign of my female body. I am not expecting to turn any heads. I camp out in the back and watch my friends pick up guys while blatantly eavesdropping on others people's conversations. A particular one grabs my attention.

Angst Ridden Female: I called you today at 3 o'clock to see what was up tonight and you don't get back to me until 9pm?!
Guy Who Wants Out: ugh, yeah sorry.
ARG: It's like you make no effort whatsoever to see me. I just like, ya know, am like so like frustrated.
GWWO: So . . . what? You wanna, like, end things . . .? (trying to be casual, yet looking like a small child on Christmas morning)

I silently applaud the GWWO for attempting my favorite and most respected move: The Manipulative Self Escape. (The guy wants to get out the relationship, but doesn't want to make the effort. So, he acts in a way that will piss off the girl making her think that when she finally does end things it was all her idea.) Brilliant!

The guy heads to the bathroom and I approach the girl, hoping to fill her in on what is going on.

Mindy: He wants out.
ARF: Excuse me?
Mindy: He wants out of the relationship, and he's making you do all the work. Don't make it easy for him.
ARF: Fuck you.
Mindy: (I glance at her with pity.) Your anger is completely justifiable. He wants you to end things, don't you see? Don't worry, you deserve better anyway.

OK, that was a lie. She really didn't. Once I saw the whites of her eyes, I could tell that she was of average intelligence and had nothing remotely interesting or significant to offer society. Yet, I was feeling extremely benevolent and continued.

Mindy: This is your only chance to have some power. Don't make ending this relationship easy for him. Let him do all the work.
ARF: Fuck you.

I look at her the way that Roma Downey looks at the people she is trying to save on that TV show Touched by an Angel (ok, so sometimes when I'm drunk I watch the Hallmark Channel) and walk away.

"Nice Sweater!"

I turn around and face a very good looking guy. Now I am usually not a fan of handsome cheesy looking men—
because they always seem to think that their looks make up for common decency— and so I do not suggestively lick my lips, bat my eyes, stick out chest, or say "thank you" while giggling and averting my gaze. I stare at him blankly and reply, "I got it in Ireland?"

So we end up talking about the British Isles for awhile, which somehow leads to a discussion about traveling in general, and I tell him how I want to go Italy this summer, and he tells me how he just got back from Spain, and somehow we end up talking about modern art. Turns out he loves Jackson Pollack and we both have the same book at home on Rothko. Then we get into a great discussion about Samuel Beckett and how his writing parallels itself to modern art. And then he says,

"Yeah I haven't been to the Met in a long time I need to go back soon."

And I say,

"Me too."

And he says,

"Well we'll have to go sometime."

And I say,

"Yeah, definitely."

And just as I am about to give him my number he says,

"My wife hates museums."


Now I know it's possible to think someone is flirting with you when they are really just being polite. And, I know that this guy never officially asked me out, but there was arm touching, hair touching, and major eye contact. So much so, that I was fairly certain he was interested and available.

I stare cheerfully at the misleading, handsome married man in front of me. I do not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that this information surprises me. I smile, don't miss a beat, and respond with the only thing I can think of to save face.

"Well my husband will go to them sometimes with me, but I think he'd rather be watching sports. ( awkward pause) Yup, I'm married too."

That, dear readers, is how I went from a single girl picking up a handsome guy at the bar, to a married woman flirting with another woman's husband!

I feel my migraine creeping back. I excuse myself from the shady man with NO ring on his finger, wrap myself up in my sweater, and give my friends the "I'm calling it a night" signal. "Have fun tomorrow night!" one shouts across to me. She then mimes shooting herself in the head while the guy who is hitting on her is turned the other way. Oh god, I almost forgot. I have a date tomorrow night. Well, I guess if it is really awful I can always start talking about my museum going, sports watching husband.

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