Single & Caffeinated Episode 009: Can I at least put on my hot girl disguise before you hit on me?

by Megan Harris

Okay, so this is…late. I know, I am so horribly lazy. Well, I mean I was super busy today. But still, I did, in point of fact, have enough time to write this earlier. I just A.) didn’t know what to write it about and B.) didn’t really care. So take that how you will.

So I don’t have this problem all the time. But it is certainly not something I enjoy immensely and its occurrence usually drives me to want to immediately become reclusive. You know, ball up in a cave and claw away at the air to look threatening? That is usually my mental reaction to these moments.

I am not normal. Unless I put out the “go flag” to someone by maybe implying to them that I think they’re cute/interesting/etc, to allow them to hit on me in reciprocation…I don’t like to be hit on. Yes, hitting on me is an invitation only event. I don’t know why. Probably because I am super picky and strange. Anyway, so many people find hitting on me like the sport to play when I go out to bars.

Here’s the problem:

When I go out looking nice and presentable (in my hot girl disguise) because I am with my friends who look nice and presentable NO ONE, you hear me, NOT ONE person attempts to hit on me.

It is only when I look unkempt, ugly, poorly dressed, and homeless that people are like “OH MAN, I gotta get me some of that.”

What are you kidding me?

And while sometimes I am alone looking poorly dressed  usually I am with someone who might look better (and I was just too lazy to care) or about the same as me.

Here is an alone situation:

I went to the Rec Center last year in April/May(?) and I dressed in a YSU tailgating shirt that is XXL and super ugly and like BRIGHT RED and these old and bleach spotted tan work out pants. I ran on the elliptical for like…an hour and a half or something like that. Then they were closing and I was like, “Man I am so fucking hungry.” I just got paid and hadn’t really ate anything other than spaghetti in the past week so I decided to go out and get something a little special for myself downtown. I couldn’t decide where to go but the decision was quickly made for me when I saw BWs was packed and Lemon Grove was charging cover. I went to Draught House and ordered some wings.

While I was waiting I sat in the booth part of the bar near the front listening to my ipod. There was a pretty fair cross section of people in there. Plenty of girls dressed like whores and a lot of guys chasing them around.

Then there was me. Sweaty. Tired. Shaking legs.

Yup.

All the guys who hit on me that night were actually attractive. I mean, not really to me but with regards to general ideas of attractiveness they were not bad looking. Let me tell you how many of them came up to me and hit on me.

22.

Here is how I know. The 22nd guy who came up to me said, “I’ve been watching you from the corner for a while now. I saw 21 guys come up to you and get turned down. Thought I’d give it a shot.” He introduced himself and then put out his hand for a handshake.

My response was a confused but firm, “You’ve been…watching me… from the corner?”

I think he kind of understood my immediate rejection because he pulled his hand back and walked away.

Alright, regardless of how I look, I am not going to ever be the girl who responds well to unwanted pick up attempts. But if you’re going to try and pick me up…can you at least do it when I look better and then by proxy feel better about myself? This hitting on people when they look like a mess is really confusing me. I don’t know who society wants me to be. Street rat or professional well put together lady?

While I appreciate the compliment that people think I still look attractive even when I don’t think so myself, I really don’t see how men (or those men who tried to hit on me, rather) could see a girl looking pretty tattered and think, “Yeah, that girl is out to play the flirting game tonight! I’m going to use some corny lines on her!”

This has happened multiple times since I got back, tonight counts as one of those times.
Every time I just want to stop them and be like, “Hey, dude, can you like pause real quick? I’m going to run to my apartment, dress sexy and then come back here so that I can turn you down while looking/feeling hot as fuck.  Alright?”

But then I remember that I walk everywhere and not even turning down a lame ass bar prowler is worth the movement of my feet that extra 35 minutes.

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