I’ve hit a couple of other SOHO attractions (I am a tourist after all) and just after 11 arrive at Chris’s bar. I order a drink from the main level bar, nod to Chris and wander off. I’m cool aren’t I? At one of the upstairs bars, I start chatting with one of the bartenders, telling him I know Chris downstairs. Cute. My type. Smallish, dark hair & complexion, he’s early 20’s from Uzbekistan. I’m not sure where that is exactly. From what I’m thinking, it doesn’t matter. Fully fueled with a couple of drinks, I lean in and tell him how terribly cute he is. He smiles.
The next morning, TC and I are talking in bed. He’s asking how I enjoyed his bar. I’m telling him about the bartender upstairs with whom I chatted. “Oh really, how surprising”, he replies. I continue to dig a hole going on about how cute he was. “Yes, I can see he is definitely your type”, Chris allowing me to commit suicide. I conclude with my telling the bartender how cute he was. “That’s very sweet”, he coyly responds.
Turns out the bartender had ratted me out to Chris that night. Men, you just can’t trust’em. Chris was holding this card to play at some point in the future on me. Unfortunately, I spoiled the deal by confessing. I always confess. Chris having a good laugh, he knows how I am. He gets a little jealous but that’s ok. I know how to deal with that behaviour. 🙂