So, Just Bite Him.

SO, JUST BITE HIM

 “ I hear he’s going to be at the party tonight.”

“Yes! Go for it girl!”

“Stop it! If I spend too much time thinking about him, I'll freeze when I see him and won't be able to say a word.”

“So, don’t think about him.”

“But then. . . when I see him, what will I say?”

“Like I said, don’t think about him.”

“But here’s the thing, when I see him, I need to say something witty and charming. Something to capture his attention…”

“So, what will you say?”

“I know! I'll say, Beat billy oatin dotin bo bo be deaten dotten. Because those are the magic words… the words that will make him fall under my spell—No, really, what should I say?”

“I don’t know…”

“Why can't I talk to a guy when I like him? I have wonderful thoughts; I make myself laugh all day. I’m funny and witty—but put me in a room with a man I like, and a flood of silliness washes away the brilliance. Like that guy, Manny, that I used to like. My brain says, Say something to compliment him, then I hear myself say, I like the way your pants pucker in the front. Why didn't I just say, I'm staring at your crotch?”

“Jeez, girl, how embarrassing! But whatever you do, don’t tell him that story about when you were in Jamaica. “

“Yeah, that story doesn't make me sound funny, it makes me sound crazy…”

“Besides, there’s still a warrant out on you for that one.” 

“Yeah, right. Ya’ know, I remember reading once that the secret to good communication is to react honestly to another person. But if I do that, he'll definitely know I'm a flake. Well, maybe not a flake—but quirky. Definitely quirky.”

“So, maybe he likes quirky?”

“And who cares what he thinks? Maybe if I don't think about what I'm going to say, maybe if I just let it flow, maybe it won't be so bad.”

“But what if you say something like, I like the way your pants pucker?”

“So, what? Then, however he reacts, I'll react honestly to that. If he doesn't like me, then it's me he doesn't like, not some phony. If he thinks I'm flaky instead of quirky. . . so what?”

“So, what’s the big deal? What’s he gonna’ do? It’s not like he’ll take a bite out of your arm or anything like that. Not like that Jamaica thing…”

“Yeah, right. Maybe I should just talk about something from the news? There are some interesting stories in the news! It would make me sound…I don’t know…intellectual?”

“But don’t talk about politics, that’s a definite turn off.”

“Not politics, I don’t know…some interesting story. Like maybe some

animal story? People like animal stories. How about the story where polar bears are attacking people because of climate change?”

         “Are you crazy? Climate change is still political!!”

“Okay, how about something funny. I read where a zoo in England is charging $1.50 for people to name cockroaches after their ex-boyfriends! That’s funny!”

“God girl, are you nuts? That just makes you sound like a bitter ex-girlfriend!”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Animal stories are a good choice, but it’s got to be something benign, I don’t know…maybe something cute and funny?”

“I know! How about those parrots that were removed from a public space in a hotel because they taught each other how to say, screw you to the guests!”

“Well, you’re getting closer, but that’s still not a particularly good source of conversation. Got something else? How about something interesting about your own life? Didn’t you drive through Mexico by yourself?”

“Yeah, right! And I spent the night in a whorehouse!”

“What!”

“Well, it wasn’t on purpose. I was late getting to the next hotel recommended by triple A. I got lost in Mexico City and the traffic was so bad, if I’d have seen a sign saying the next exit to hell I would have taken it! Anyway, by the time I got out of Mexico City it was nighttime and I decided would stop at the first, clean-looking hotel…”

“A whorehouse?”

“Well, here’s the thing, I didn’t know that’s what it was when I pulled in, but it was cheap and come to think of it, the woman in charge thought it was strange that I was by myself. Then she had me park in a space near the room, and pulled curtains behind my car to hide it.”

“Okay… but, when did you know it was a brothel?”

“Well, the TV showed nothing but porno—strange, I thought, but what the heck, different country, different tastes. The bathroom shower was big enough for 6 people and there was a speaker over the bed…”

“And then?”

“I looked out the window and saw a bunch of women walking through the courtyard. At first, I thought they were maids—made sense because the room was so clean. But here’s the thing, I was so tired after fighting the Mexico City traffic, I just laid on the bed. Suddenly, all the clues fell into place and then it dawned on me--I was in whorehouse!”

“Damn, girl! What did you do?”

“I was scared! I thought if this place gets busted, I didn’t know enough Spanish to explain myself! So, I tried to sleep in my car, but I couldn’t sleep, so I went inside, pulled a towel out of my suitcase and slept on it. Didn’t want to touch anything on the bed. Next morning, I left at the crack of dawn.”

“Jeez girl!”

“But you know, it was okay. I had no problem there—and it was a cheap place to spend the night because I didn’t partake of the, ahem, other amenities. Think I should tell him that story?”

“Well, it’s kinda’ interesting…”

“Oh, what the hell! I’m not gonna’ overthink this! I’m just going to go to that party and talk to him about whatever comes to my mind. I’m not going to think about what I’m going to say. I’m not gonna’ worry if I look like a flake. I’m just gonna’ be me.”

“Right! And if he doesn’t like you—too bad!”

“Yeah, right, And, if he doesn’t like me, I’ll just bite him. Like I did that guy in Jamaica.”

“Jeez, girl!”