Last night I went to a local sports bar to check out the Chargers vs. Cowboys football game and have drinks/dinner. The conversation flowed easily, and we had a lot in common. He was “in-the-know” of really interesting things happening in Dallas – the latest art gallery exhibits, theater shows, live music, restaurant openings – very cultured. I’m thinking, “Finally, a man with a sophisticated palate for the arts that also likes sports!”
Throughout our conversation, I can see his eyes drifting south to my chest. I didn’t feel that my shirt was inappropriate when I left home, but I find myself constantly pulling it up thanks to his wandering eye. About midway through the 4th quarter, he reaches into his 3rd rum & coke (which I will give him a slight break had looked far more like rum than anything else) to pull out a piece of ice.
He shoots!!!! He scores!!!! My mind goes wild!!!!
To my complete and utter disbelief, straight down my shirt goes the freezing, wet ice cube! He giggles like a school girl, and I can do nothing but shake my head and roll my eyes. Newsflash, you’re not a professional basketball player nor are you a young boy where this childish behavior could be acceptable.
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