Tuesday, March 23, 2004

Restoring my confidence in (hunky) mankind.

I'm not one to give out my number to strangers in bars -- even cute strangers who show a genuine interest in becoming better acquainted. In fact, I've done it only four times in recent memory. And until about an hour ago, not one of them has ever contacted me. Here's the rundown:

1. E., the distractingly handsome real-estate agent with abs that actually show through his shirts. He and I spent a spectacular evening laughing and talking and accidentally bumping into each other at Sidetrack -- on Valentine's Day, come to think of it. We ran into each other a few weeks later and repeated the same flirtation rituals. At the end of the night he told me I should call him sometime. I gave him my business card so he could contact me, but he never gave me his. And he's never contacted me.

2. L., the attractive, square-jawed regular-Joe type with whom I had a long and spirited conversation about politics and gay marriage and other social issues during the Academy Awards telecast at Sidetrack. He left to meet up with some friends, but he asked for my number because he really wanted to get together for dinner sometime soon. Again with the business card. Again with the silence.

3. T., the hot-hot-hot actor/bartender/whatever at Sidetrack (notice a location pattern here?) whose clingy tank tops and cocky self-assurance have eclipsed any memories I have of what we talked about -- though I do remember that he frequently steered our conversations to the topic of sex ... specifically, what he does with the guys he brings home from the bar. Weak knees, business card ... silence.

4. R., the Men's Health-cover-model-handsome teacher (student? I don't actually recall ever covering the topic of employment) I met last night at Sidetrack. We'd actually met years earlier, but this time we found more of the proverbial "connection" you hear about so much on reality dating shows, and we spent the evening laughing and talking and dropping references to New Yorker articles and the theater and getting all arm-around-the-shoulders chummy with each other -- and suddenly a good two hours had gone by and I had to get home and get to bed. But not before giving him my card.

And today, at the end of the workday (the scheduled workday -- it's now after 8 pm and I'm still at work), my inbox chimed with a nice note from him. And then two more. And now we're having dinner next week.

Moral of the story: There are cute men who follow through on their promises to call. It just takes a whole box of business cards to find them.

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