Nobody's Perfect

DD:     i met a guy last night :)  a very cute one

Rugrat:     Oo fun :)  not the one u have a date scheduled with already?

DD:     nope that's Mr. Songwriter.  this is a new one - he's a dentist

Rugrat:     Oo la la.  how old?  prior marriages?  kids?

DD:     28, no wives, no kids.  and texting me today :)

Rugrat:     Very nice.  Love him already.  Love the younger guy.  I'm going younger next lol.  so he feels sooo lucky to date an older woman :)

DD:     we'll see - i met him at a bar

Rugrat:     who cares?  Life is supposed to be fun :)  Google him.  Make sure he's a legit dentist - what's his name?

DD:     Dr. Perfect.  And trust me - he's perfect.  it's scary

Rugrat:     found him.  he's a legit dentist.  Dr. Perfect...but can't find a pic yet... have to trust u on that one...

Last night was pure craziness.  I really should know better.  When I get a text message from Rowdy and Zamboni on a random Wednesday night that says, "K's event going on at the martini bar 2nite - must support her - get here now!", I should just mentally—and physically—prepare myself for a night of very little sleep.

The evening started off fairly tame.  The three of us sat at the bar (i.e. perched ourselves attractively in view of all the comings and goings around us), made friends with the bartender (if you haven't learned this lesson yet, learn it now), enjoyed our free martinis (and a few others supplied by our new friend, the bartender), and caught up on each other's lives (i.e. intense gossip session occurred).

A few fun-filled martinis later, Rowdy spots a group of men, appearing to be close to our age, who enter the bar and sit themselves at a table across the bar.  Nudging Zamboni and I, who are seated on either side of her, Rowdy indicates the new direction of her gaze, and, pretty soon, all three of us are checking out the new arrivals.

Rowdy and I completely have the same taste in men, which actually works out well since she is happily married to Todd.  She spots them—I date them (sometimes).  It's a great system.  Zamboni, on the other hand, is at a disadvantage, since she is usually attracted to a different type.  However, Zamboni (the irresistible girl that she is) has snagged herself a seemingly-wonderful guy who she has decided to keep around for a short while now, and things are going great.  Luckily (or maybe depressingly) for me, that means any attractive, non-wedding-band-wearing guys are going to get pushed my way tonight.

"They're pretty cute—look!  That one kinda looks like Matthew McConaughey...a little, at least," suggests Rowdy, and the three of us consider them.  "They are certainly the only ones at this bar function who seem to be under the age of 40.  Date that one," she says, nodding in the direction of the McConaughey-look-a-like.  "You need new blog fodder anyway.  It's been a while since you had a good one."

"But please, didn't we already establish this?  Men don't talk to women at bars.  They will sit over there all night, yucking it up with each other, absolutely oblivious to the fact that there are even women in proximity.  I'm not sure I'm brave enough tonight to walk over there, and—let's be honest, here—I came straight from work.  I ain't lookin' that cute," I point out, indicating my jeans-and-tee-shirt appearance.

"True.  Okay.  I'll take care of it," Rowdy states matter-of-factly as she turns back towards Zamboni, who instantly snickers at Rowdy's comment.

"Uh, oh," Zamboni smiles devilishly, "this is gonna be good."

Uh-oh is right.  Rowdy "taking care of it" can only mean one thing—I should brace myself for the night to get wild.

Within ten minutes, Rowdy scouts out our bartender friend and buys a round of drinks for the guys' table.  Within twenty minutes, Bartender is delivering four vodka tonics to our new prey.  Within twenty-two minutes, sure enough, McConaughey-look-a-like is approaching.  With friends in tow.

"Are you ladies the ones who sent us the drinks?  Thanks so much!  We were just hanging out—we all actually went to dental school together and got together to catch up—and we were pleasantly surprised.  You have to let us return the favor and buy you ladies a round..." he says with a smile.

As you can imagine, the night went downhill (or uphill, as Rowdy would argue) from there.  Zamboni was stalked by two middle-aged men who seemed to have some creepy fetish for being rejected by her over and over again.  Rowdy almost fought with the girlfriend of one of the dentists after she started getting an attitude about us flirting with her man (even after Rowdy pointed out her wedding ring to the overprotective chick).  And, for the rest of the night, Dr. Perfect and I got to know each other.  We sat there, the two of us, engrossed in talking together at the bar amid all the chaos, the dancing, and the madness.

We called him Dr. Perfect because, well—he is.  He's a sweet, successful, funny, interesting, non-creepy, beer-drinking football fan who has a normal job with good hours, doesn't seem to take himself too seriously, and loves the nearby country-western bar just as much as we do.  All of a sudden, Zamboni is dragging us out because it's 1 a.m. and all three of us are working early in the morning, and Dr. Perfect and I still haven't run out of things to talk about.  So the only question now is—

Why is this guy single?

Dr. Perfect and I exchanged numbers that night, he called the next, and we set up a dinner date for a few days later.  Nobody's perfect—right?  I guess we'll soon find out if Dr. Perfect lives up to his name...

Or not.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée