Life After Divorce – The Bar Scene – Take 1

I have a friend who is going through a divorce, and she was thinking about going out to a bar with her cousin. She was quite young when she married and expressed curiosity about the whole “going out” bar scene.

Just talking to her brought back some funny memories of when I went through my own divorce. I was not interested in the bar scene (was not interested in the man scene), but my sister managed to convince me I needed to quit moping around and go out with her. She had a friend who was going through a rough time and needed company. So, after much cajoling, I gave in (against my better judgment but sitting around crying every day wasn’t good either.)

I remember meeting her and her friend at a bar. When I walked in, they were horrified to see my attire (NOT what you are thinking), I had on my work clothes; navy plaid shorts (long) paired with navy stockings, navy loafers, and a yellow turtleneck (if I was going to be uncomfortable and out of my element, then I was at least going to wear my favorite outfit.) And, if they did not already think that was bad enough, they nearly broke a blood vessel laughing at the little angel pinned to my turtleneck. I definitely was not giving off the vibe of “trolling.” Not only was I sorely out of place at their table, according to the two of them, I looked like a nun in the middle of a bar.

They ordered drinks; so did I. Once again, their mortification was complete when I ordered water with lemon. I do not know what they expected; they knew I did not drink, and I thought a glass of water (on the rocks) with a slice of lemon at least looked like a drink. According to the “trolling bible,” I wasn’t fooling anyone but myself.

As time went on and I grew increasingly uncomfortable, I dared not even people watch. The music started and they were excited when a good-looking guy came over to the table. I was sitting there trying to guess which one of them he would choose to ask to dance. After all, that is what her friend was there for, not me, not my sister. Have you guessed where this story is going yet? Imagine their gaping mosquito traps when the guy asked me to dance. Then, imagine me trying to foist him off on them because I had no desire to dance with anyone, much less a stranger. Remember, I was there under duress. Men need to learn that no really means NO.

I at least provided entertainment for the two of them that night (and that was the point of this excursion.) Neither of them could get over the fact that anyone approached me, especially the way I was dressed. Apparently, some men like the harlot nun look. I remembered something else as well; they keep the lights turned down for a reason. People are much better looking in the dark.

My sister had an interesting encounter of the family kind. She accompanied her friend to a bar another evening and struck up a conversation with a good-looking guy while waiting for her drink. They started talking, and one question led to another; he was from out of state and in town calling on clients, etc. Then, things got crazy. It turned out this guy, whom my sister’s friend was salivating over, was a cousin of ours that we had never met. Bar life can be quite interesting sometimes.

Thank goodness, I did not have to endure too many episodes of bar life; I only had so many turtlenecks and angel pins (and my sister was on the brink of hysteria). I was definitely not going to be responsible for sending my sister to the loony bin!