I don’t think I’ve ever felt like a bigger piece of meat in an Irish pub.

Guy #1 kept on trying to kick it to me while gulping down glass after glass of Guinness. He then proceeded to say, “You’re so cute and small and Asian” and poked me.

… Who the fuck pokes nowadays? As tempted as I was to punch him out, I wouldn’t want to follow in the tradition of starting an Irish bar fight.

Guy #2 was nicer. He tried making casual conversation with me but didn’t work out so he backed off and sensed my disinterest.

Guy #3 was an older gentleman. He worked down on Wall Street and smoothly made his way to my side of the bar to clear some bottles. He asked where my boyfriend was (I had just gotten out of a long term), so I lied and said he’s doing graveyard shift as a security guard. He gave me his number and I his (I wasn’t thinking quick enough to make up a number). I labeled him “Don’t Pick Up” on my mobile phone, hoping he won’t call.

Unfortunately he did.
And my mom picked up.
While I was in the bathroom.

–submitted by don’t call me–

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