Cocktails & Conversation (or "A Single Gal's Guide to Getting a Drink")

"You know, it is hard to get a guy to talk to you at a bar," I remark one night when I am out with girlfriends Rowdy, Faith, and Zamboni.  "I never thought about it when I was married, but now that I'm single once again, it is definitely quite difficult.  Look at us.  Four attractive women, sitting her at a bar, all of us single—okay, well, except for Rowdy.  So I don't get it—why don't guys approach us?"

"You are so full of it," Rowdy rolls her eyes at me.  Zamboni simply laughs knowing that, a few drinks in like we are, and Rowdy and I are bound to end up debating about something.

I continue adamantly, "No, wait, I'm serious.  I can get our beer pitcher filled at an Irish bar on St. Patrick's Day in about 30 seconds, I can find a guy to dance with me in a club full of hot women, and I am quite sure that any one of us could pick up a guy to take home in less than a minute if we wanted to.  But when it comes to getting a man to have a conversation with me when I'm out somewhere, I'm clueless."

"I never have guys come talk to me when I'm out," admits Faith.  "I think I have to go with DD on this one."

I nod my head furiously to emphasis my point.  "See?  Seriously!  The whole reason most guys go to bars is to meet single women, right?  So what is the deal?!?"

"You are both high if you think it is hard to get a guy to talk to you at a bar," Rowdy argues back.  "You could go up to that bar right now, and I bet you're not up there for 2 minutes before someone buys you a drink."

Of course Zamboni pipes in, "I'll take that bet—2 minutes?  They can't get a guy to buy them a drink in 2 minutes.  No way."  Rowdy and Zamboni argue a bit longer, place their wagers, and seconds later I'm being shoved away from our table and up to the bar, empty wine glass in hand.

Okay—I feel stupid.  This isn't working.  I've been at this bar for WAY longer than two minutes...I think Zamboni has definitely won her prize on this bet.  Nothing.  Just as I'm starting to feel pretty pathetic, Faith suddenly appears at my side.

"They decided you needed reinforcements.  Apparently, that equals me," Faith explains with a sympathetic smile.

"Well, if you can't get someone to talk to us, we have really won our argument," I say.  Faith is a blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty—she turns heads everywhere she goes.  Yet, as we head back to Rowdy and Zamboni at our table a few minutes later defeated, I'm still standing by my position:  men don't talk to women at bars.

"I win!" exclaims Zamboni in triumph.  Rowdy just shakes her head.

"You both are lost causes.  You can't just stand there and do absolutely nothing.  It takes a bit more than just looking cute.  Here—" she says, taking off and handing me her wedding rings, "let me show you losers how it's done."

With an air of determination, Rowdy stands up, squares her shoulders, and starts off to conquer the challenge.  Eyeing her marks, she casually saunters up to a group of three men standing a little ways from our table.  From where we are sitting, I watch as Rowdy asks them something, one of them answers, and moments later they are in conversation, and Rowdy is laughing at something one of them has said as she flirtatiously puts her hand on his arm.

"I can't hear what's going on, can you?" I ask, looking over at Zamboni and Faith, who are both craning their necks to get the best view of Rowdy, intrigued and a bit in awe.

"Nope, but looks like it is going well.  I think she's going to end up winning this one," Zamboni smirks.  "Can't say I'm all that upset though—this little battle is quite entertaining.  Oh, look—I think you're being paged," Zamboni says to me, pointing in Rowdy's direction.  I look up, and, sure enough, Rowdy is motioning me over while still chatting up the poor suckers.

I'm just about to get up and head her way when we see Rowdy's husband, Todd, come through the front door of the bar and start heading in Rowdy's direction. 

"Oh no, is this bad?  Will he be angry?" Faith asks nervously.

Rowdy sees Todd and quickly turns away from the guys to give her husband a cool greeting and subtly whisper something in his ear.  Shaking his head, Todd walks away and, looking in the direction Rowdy had pointed, spots our table.

"Why did my wife just tell me, 'Walk away, I'm getting free shots,' and push me in your direction?" Todd asks as he sits down looking confused.

"She said I have no game and wanted to show me how it was done.  But look!" I add with a smile, holding up the hand that is laden with Rowdy's wedding rings. "We're married tonight!"  Zamboni laughs.  Faith glances nervously between the rings and Todd's face.

Todd shrugs.  "Whatever.  So where is your waitress?  I need a beer...."  I laugh and finally head towards Rowdy who is starting to give me the evil eye for taking so long to join her.

Free shots later, I have a bit more confidence.  I even get someone to buy me a drink—even if it's only Zamboni's guy friend who has joined our group while Rowdy and I were away from the table.

But one of the big lessons that resulted from my night:  Todd and Rowdy are so secure and confident in their marriage, neither one of them had a second of distrust with each other.  That is truly what a good relationship should look like.  I wonder whether my ex-husband would have reacted the same way that Todd had if we had ever been in a similiar situation.  Part of me is glad I'll never know—I'm not sure I would have been so happy with the answer.

Lesson #5 in Post-Divorce Dating:  If you go to a bar for good conversation with someone of the male gender, make sure you are prepared to do some (or all) of the initiating to get it—or to have a married woman show you how it's done. 

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée