“Hi ladies!!” I said to girls at the bar, after schlepping him downtown and filling him with gin and tonics. “Will you hang out with me so the guys don’t think I’m dating my roommate here?” I yanked him toward me and declared “This is GRoommie!”
The results:
I didn't mean to get labeled a puma. Groommie opened a tab at the bar. I pushed girls his way on the dance floor, until success!, he made it to first base. I beamed with pride -- best wing-woman ever!
Of course by that time, I'd had... some drinks. "Hey, will you hang out with me?" I asked the cute guy by the bar. "My roommate is making out with someone, so I don't have anyone to hang out with!"
During our conversation, the age question popped. I made him guess. "23?" Nope. "25?" Wrong. "26?" Uh-uh. Beginning to look concerned, he ventured "27??" Yeah... 27. Let's go with that. He is 21.
When my friends tried to drag me out of the bar, 21yr-old didn't want me to leave. He offered his relatively sober balance skills, so I hung onto his arm as he walked us back to my friend's car.
"Laura!!" Also intoxicated, GRoommie vied for my attention. "Lauralaura! LAAAUUURRRAAA!!"
Sigh. "What!?!"
Blank look. "Oh... I forgot."
"You forgot?" I stumbled, 21yr-old fought to keep me upright as I belted out to Groommie "Can't you see I'm busy hitting on a guy here?!"
Um. GRoommie does not remember any of the trip home. I consider that fortunate.