Life has a funny way of kicking me in the groin now and then.
Remember how just last week I lamented about how horrible my life was because no one would flirt with me anymore?
Well, I was hit on Friday night.
And it was the worst thing ever.
I expected the angels to sing. Confetti. Maybe a high school marching band. In my head there would be a cameraman there asking me what I was going to next.
"I'm going to Disney World!"
But there was none of that. Just the sad realization that I had spent 24 years of my life trying to sell myself like a reject shirt on the CLEARANCE pile at Marshalls. The free drinks, the bad pick-up lines, the awkwardly staring at girls across the bar trying to overcome the paralyzing fear of actually speaking to them - all of that wasted.
Suddenly all of that blood, sweat and Red Bull that I put into being single came rushing back to my memory.
And now? Now that I'm happily married and just trying to stay out past 11 on a Friday?
Now I get hit on.
Looking this good never hurt so bad.