You, flaxen. Me, sweaty.

We met at that bar in town. We didn’t officially meet, as the dictionary defines it.. But I saw you at that bar in town. Your hair was shiny and flaxen in the strobe light. It was ethereal.. like The Matrix. I didn’t have the guts to ask your name or make any direct eye contact, but I strained to hear you as you told your name to some asshole guy. A better looking guy. A guy with a shirt that his mom probably didn’t buy him from the supermarket because she won’t pay good money for shirts when all I do is sweat in them. Lucky bastard.

I have some lip-reading knowledge, I put it on my CV, so think that its safe to say I’m a professional, which I picked up from watching porn on mute at my parents house. I think you said Whitney or maybe Alice but it could have been Margot. Whatever, it didn’t matter, I’d find out later when you were on your own.

Do you.. Accept?

I waited for hours for you to go to the bar. A couple of times you looked like you were going to get yourself a drink, so I quickly went to the bar and ordered us both drinks, hoping to turn around and tell you that I’d bought my friend one, but they’d left me, and I had a spare. Which you could have if you wanted, but it wasn’t a big deal. But you just kept going to the bathroom instead. I couldn’t afford the drinks either, so I told the barman he misheard me again, and asked for a tap water.

I spent the next few days looking for you on Facebook. I searched the bar page, then the barman, whose name I saw on the till after he asked me to leave and he thought I’d left the bar area. The results were poor, my time spent, fruitless. There was this one chubby girl, who I thought I saw you with, she only had 900 friends, which seemed less daunting than the 5000 friends the bar had. But you didn’t seem to be in there. Although there were a number of profile photos of dogs and cakes and landscapes and cartoons, alluding to an actual person. But you didn’t seem like that kind of girl. I’m not saying it’s not possible.. Are you a silhouette of a tree in the sunset? A Calvin and Hobbes quip, an ugly baby with a rash across its face? A tower of fashionable, overdecorated, overpriced cupcakes?

So I went ahead and friend requested all 80 of the potench options, just in case. So if you get a request from a handsome moustached stranger, don’t be alarmed, it’s just me, so accept it and we can start the next chapter of our lives, and this will be but a sidenote to our meeting. I’m kidding. I’m kidding. That’s what I do. I do those kind of jokes where you don’t know if I’m being serious or not. And then I’ll gauge from your facial expression if its working or not, and take if from there. That’s just the kind of guy I am. I’d really like it if you’d accept my request so I can save all your images onto my hard drive. LOL I’M KIDDING again. Totally kidding.

So after running the potential future wife names through Google, along with the local area, I gave a 20 mile radius, to keep the game fair, I didn’t think anyone would travel over 20 miles to get to that bar, they didn’t even have a database of ID from everyone in the club (major fire hazard). But I was certain you were in that list somewhere. There were only a handful of you now, I’d whittled you down to almost a single page of possibilities.

I checked Google Earth, digitally walking the neighborhoods for flaxen-haired, sexy blurry faced angels, with a possible outfit match. Then spent the next 5 days just driving around your potential neighborhood, waiting for our official chance meeting, and I’ll continue to, I’ve already been door-to-door pretending to sell windows to over 200 houses, I even invested in a display model window, business suit and set of laminated business cards. I’ve actually already sold 12 windows, so I really hope that one day we’ll be able to laugh about this. Accept my friendship, get in touch, we’ll get some drinks at some cool expensive place. Or just hold on.. And I’ll find you eventually.

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