Pride goeth before...

Surely you know that I come across better in writing (so imagine how I feel when I come across badly in writing). I do not like meeting new people and striking up those ever-awkward conversations. I have probably a 40% success rate with these conversations. In light of that I think it's understandable that I get a little cocky when I get one right. The universe, however, thinks that cocky looks bad on me (washes me out, makes my hips look chunky, you know, the usual) so they pretty much immediately knock me back down.

Case in point:

Yesterday at lunch time I had to stop at Smith and Wollensky to get some information. When I finally got some attention it was from Adam, the host, and Adam was very happy to see me, he thought I was fabulous, everything I said was wonderful and everything I wanted he would absolutely arrange for me, gladly, and he was clearly so looking forward to my call on Monday, really it was going to be keeping him awake nights until then. Now, it's S&W, it's the very definition of a boy's club, if you're breathing and have a 50% chance of having a vagina you will be flirted with...and the breathing is optional so I had a leg up so to speak. And yet, I was a little flattered, I felt ever so slightly successful.

Last night I went to dinner at a little Mexican restaurant where you have to ask at the cashier for the key to the restroom. When I was done I stepped around a young man to lay the key on the counter.

He smiled at me.

I smiled back.

He said, "Hi."

I said, "Hi." and I started to think that I was maybe on a roll, maybe things were better than I was making them out to be.

He said, "Do you have a take out menu?"