Friday, November 16, 2012

Bad girl

He was nondescript, a bland-looking man, far from young, but not old enough to be charming. He played guitar and sang, but he only was memorable in the way he played silly, borderline offensive songs. He was so bland that I didn’t even remember seeing him before that afternoon in August at the music jam in the park. What is frightening is that he remembered me. He said he had seen me before at other music events and thought maybe we could get together sometime.

Perhaps, I thought, why not? It’s fun to get together with new people and play music. Why, oh Lord, didn’t you set off an alarm? My brain was on cruise control. Too much banjo can kill those precious neurotransmitters. “Sure, that might work,” I said with nonchalance and too much naiveté for a woman my age.
I caught sight of one of my favorite fiddle players and wandered off to play for a while with a group of old-time musicians. Later, when I was gathering my things to leave, bland man caught up with me again. He said he had been playing with a group of beautiful women on the other side of the park. Duh. No self-respecting male musician I know would have even noticed if a woman was beautiful or not. He might covet her guitar, but beautiful is not an issue.

Still clueless, I said, “Well, how nice for you.”
“You’re a beautiful woman, too.” I was beginning to feel quite uncomfortable, but squeaked out a feeble response, “Um, um, well, um, thanks.”

"And you’re really quite sexy.” What in heaven's name was he thinking? I am a banjo player. Banjo players are not sexy. I was too stunned to respond. “And I really want to get together with you,” he added.

Okay, I admit it. Anyone else probably would have seen it coming. Not me. Finally, I got it. He didn’t want to get together to play music. What else could there be? Oh, no, not that.

I looked at his left hand and couldn’t help but notice that he was wearing a wedding band the size of Utah and I said, “You’re married, aren’t you?”
"Yes, I am,” he replied with not a hint of shame, “is that a problem?”

“Yes," I said, "it’s a big problem. I was married to someone who had no respect for marriage vows and I don’t want to mess with some other woman’s marriage.”

Want more proof that this is a guy who could be out-finessed by a 12-year-old boy? His next comment: “Don’t you want to be a bad girl?”

Lord, could we please replay this moment in time? Could you please just give me the chance to deliver some fabulous retort? In my stupor I lost the chance of a lifetime. The only thing I could think to say was, “Nooooooooooo.” What I meant was, “Yes, I really would love to be a bad girl with the right guy at the right time, but it will never be with you. In the meantime, while you’re waiting for hell to freeze over, why don’t I just call your WIFE and ask her if she’s a bad girl. Maybe we bad girls could get together and beat the shit out of you.”
So, for all the guys out there who are looking for a bad girl . . . maybe you just need to be a good boy to get a bad girl.

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