We were doing our usual Thursday thing, getting burgers (sans bun for me) & a beer at the bar & there was this loud chick next to my husband. She was really loud & plenty sassy, like those 40s Dames with their fast talking ways. She was talking to the bartender about OK Cupid. She had a date the other night with a guy from there & was very disappointed.
“He was only three apples tall & weighed about a buck forty!” She screeched.
“So, he was short & thin?” asked the bartender.
“I even checked the doorknob on his profile picture & it was at his hip, so it made him look tall.”
“Ah, the old fake doorknob trick.” (did I mention that the bartender had a dry sense of humor?)
“My profile plainly states that 5’6” is my absolute minimum & he was only about 5’3” or 5’4”.”
“That’s terrible, how tall are you?”
“So he is still taller than you.”
“But he was so skinny! I need muscles!”
Now, let’s take a moment to get a good gander at the scene. This chick is in her early thirties & is as big around as she is tall. She is loud & brassy & is wearing scrubs. The bartender asked her if she was a nurse & she replied that she just wore scrubs because they were comfortable. See: elastic waistband. Scrubs are the professional version of sweatpants, evidently.
The bartender, on the other hand, is a good looking guy; he’s almost 6’ tall, athletic, graying at the temples, about 45. He is very charming & has this wicked, subtle sense of humor. We’ve known him forever.
“Oh, you need a guy who works out” the bartender says, understandingly.
“Well, he just wasn’t what I was looking for. I’d date you, though; are you on OK Cupid?”
“No, no, I have a girlfriend.”
“Really, how old is she?”