Size Matters

I was out boozing it up with a friend last night. We were unlucky enough to get hit on by one of those morose, self-conscious morons who think that whining will get them a pity fuck. Now, just because I don’t like them doesn’t mean I go around stomping on people like that with both feet. Kicking idiots of any type is a waste of my time. Besides, I’ve long since outgrown that hobby. Now I usually nod noncommittally and tell them politely that I’m not interested. Most of the time they’re sensitive enough to subtleties to move on, but once in a while I meet a dumb one. The latest dummy takes the cake, though.

He sat next to us at the bar with a few of his friends. It seemed like his buddies were having a good time, but he looked lonely and lost. Forlorn. Kind of like a sad, mistreated puppy. My friend Deenie and I chatted away, waiting for the bartender to come back with our drinks. He sighed mightily, trying to catch our attention. Dee hadn’t even noticed him behind her. I restrained the urge to roll my eyes. He edged closer, almost leaning on my friend’s back.

“Can we help you?” I asked him pointedly.

“I guess I couldn’t buy you ladies a drink,” he stated glumly, eyes downcast.

“We’re good, thanks. That’s them now,” I told him, watching as the bartender laid out our napkins and set down some sissified cocktails. I grabbed mine and started sucking it down, figuring the conversation was over.

“I should have known better. Girls just aren’t into me,” groused Eeyore.

Deenie and I exchanged glances. I could have sworn hers said, What a dumbass, let’s go. I know mine sure as hell did. She turned back to the guy and smiled at him.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she told him sympathetically. Oh, that’s just freakin’ great. Encourage him, why don’t ya? There was only one place this conversation was going to go: a pity party. I sat back and let her learn her lesson.

“I guess a girl like you would never go out with a guy like me,” moaned Eeyore. “Beautiful girls would never look at a guy like me.”

He looked sadly at Deenie, trying to convey just how alone he was, how bleak his life. His eyes flickered over to me, trying to gauge how much of this malarkey I was buying. I flashed the biggest, bestest Colgate smile ever and gave him the double thumbs-up sign. You go, boy! He scowled at me and turned his full attention over to securing his victim.

“Aww, you’re so sweet, I’m sure girls like you. Maybe you just don’t notice,” Deenie was telling him. Here’s an idea: go look for them now, we’ll wait here until you find one. I was commenting silently, but I knew he could hear me anyway.

“Nawww. I’ve been friends with girls before and all they did was cry about what assholes their boyfriends were and there I was the whole time waiting for them to notice me. I haven’t had sex in months.” Can you imagine the cheek of it? Here he was pretending to be their friend and they dared to treat him like one.

Eeyore sighed again, cradling his beer bottle in hands that clenched and flexed dramatically. “And one girl even told me all her fantasies and shit, like anal sex. Secret, you know. I told her she needs somebody to share them with and she went off and did it with her boyfriend.”

“Some girls just don’t know what they have. I mean, you gotta just be you right? And then the right girl will find you. Really,” she said. What the fuck?!

I had no idea the girl was this dense. Or was she stringing them along? Maybe she was being cruel. That would’ve been easier to believe. This conversation went on for a while, same theme: he bemoaning his lack of a love life (and how he was so horny–yup, he actually said that), she determined to cheer him up. She kept telling him how nice he seemed, and he kept bringing the conversation back to getting laid. After about fifteen minutes of this I lost my patience. Plus, I was done with my drink. I nudged Deenie, but she waved me off.

“Maybe it’s because I have a small dick. Six and a half is small, women want porn dick,” Eeyore managed to say with a straight face. Oh, come on, you can do better than that, boyo. You can’t possibly think she’d buy that.

“That’s not small,” exclaimed my good friend Dee. Oh jeez.

Enough already. I decided it was time to play a game of Kick the Puppy.

I leaned past Dee and smiled at him. “She’s right,” I told him. Surprised, he smiled hopefully back at me, still a little leery.

“The only thing small about you is your brain.”

To my friend’s utter mortification and my delight, Dee giggled. She turned beet-red and decided that now was as good a time as any to say good bye. We left him spluttering something about bitches and cocks. Before we even got to the door, she was chewing me out for being so mean and cruel to the poor little man. I had no luck convincing her that he was only interested in getting into her pants.

“You’re such a bitch sometimes,” she said.

“Yeah,” I grinned.

(By the way, I know bestest is not a real word. I just like being facetious.)

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