Sunday, February 9, 2014

And the Oscar for best man goes to...

My sister and I decided to go to a bar together the other evening.  "We're DOING this," we verbally high-fived before enthusiastically tapping the red "end call" button on our cell phones.   She had gotten her makeup done at the MAC counter and I finally wore an outfit that went a little more appealing than my typical Frauline Maria collection.

And like moths to a subtly curvy flame, there they were.  Men.  The formula was that simple.  Two chicks alone at a table in a room full of dudes.  Guys watching football checking us out during commercials.  Hooray, right?

Now I am not one to sit around with my homegirls man-hating because I really do like me some mens, but before we get ourselves all hyped up about these particular suitors, let me 'xplain a couple of details, k?  Mom and Dad, hope you're reading.

First, very kind Indian guy approaches.  Thick black hair that looked so good it could've been an ad.  Warm, subtle accent that resembled that of Northeast Hyderabad (i.e., I had no idea where he was from in India) sweetly offered us to join his table with his friends.  My sister is actively dating someone, so it was up to me to open myself up to...forcing myself to be open.   As nice as he was, I just wasn't feeling it, but thanks to my pretty profound reserves of female guilt I considered accepting.  Until the moment he cut through my forced open-mindedness with a desperate gasp:  "Please don't say no. My friends are videotaping this." My sister and I peered around either one of his shoulders, and sure enough, there were his American work friends(?) looking over with obnoxious smiles, one of which holding up the back of an i-phone to us that was no doubt blinking "record."  I felt for the guy, but it was clear to me that it would be four courtesy laughs for the price of one.  "Thank you so much.  We'll come over in a bit," is what my sister and I managed.  "It'll be more fun over there," he tried to convince more out of fear for returning to his "friends" empty-handed than actually wanting our company. "My buddies over there are funny, especially if you like racism and sexist jokes," he said.  We smiled up at him in such awkwardness that even our cocktails winced.  When they sent over a couple of drinks a few minutes later, my sister and I rallied ourselves over there to say thanks to the supposed racist sexists, who all turned out to be named Matt.

I'd say "A for effort" but it really was more like a D+.  But great, great material.

Next (yes! there's a next), our waiter who was a triple-win: Cute, sweet, and excellent obvious dental hygiene left us his number on the bill.  Fun!  So there was the mantra in the chorus of my parents', friends', and bosses' voices in my head, "Rina, just see what happens!  Stop holding yourself back, sistuh. Own it."  So I went with the i-phone times (in spite of having a Blackberry) and sent a text.

"Hey, ___! It's Rina. You were cute and nice," I typed.

"You too!  We will have a great time," he responds.  Not bad.  Grammar is ok.  Until he sent...

...a photo of himself shirtless biting his lip.  Here's the most wonderful part.  It was night time. The photo was clearly shot in daylight.  Like it was on hold and archived for moments just like this.

No biggie.  I'm sure my mom dealt with the same kind of typical behaviors from her marriage suitors back in the day.

I love how hard I cackled by myself on the subway steps and immediately made a note on the 3 train to write out this story when I got home.  And who knows? Perhaps one day it'll become a film.  Or perhaps, it already is.   On Youtube.  Two Indian women, guiltily letting down an Indian man with perfect hair with the sounds of laughter from his drunk buddies behind the camera.

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