That was a crazy game of poker...

On Saturday night, I met a man.

Lots of women's stories start that way. Not mine. I do not meet men. I know a lot of men, but so far that has done me little good in life. I never meet men. Possibly, I've met my 'new man' quota. Sometimes I fear I'll never meet another man again, a thought which is endlessly depressing.

On Saturday night, I met a man, while I was bartending at my cousin's party. I liked him immediately, based on the fact that he was wearing a suit and that he looked a lot like a co-worker of mine that I used to have a crush on.

Through the night, I learned that he could talk about basketball and that he liked to drink girly drinks while pretending he was drinking hard core stuff. I would make him a Sea Breeze and call it a Bloody Bullet. I kept his secret until now. The bartender knows everything. Remember that.

After I got off, we danced for awhile and he kissed me, twice. Nothing more. When we went downstairs all alone, I could have made a move, but instead I made a drink. I don't want to be the girl who settles for indiscreet fumbles in corners. I won't.

At the end of the night, I sat down next to him on the couch and said, "I'm leaving now. If you're interested, here's the part of the night where you ask for my number. If not, you say 'It was nice to meet you.'"

He said, "It was nice to meet you."

I said, "It was nice to meet you, too." And I left.

Believe it or not, that was all okay. Though it was awkward when I came to pick up my bartending stuff the next morning and he was sitting in the exact same place on the couch. Ah well. But it's been so long since I've had a brief foray into the world of men. My forays are long and often very painful.

It was nice to meet him.