Love and Shmucks (Fiction)


He called me hot and grabbed my ass.

I sort of hoped he was gay but then again even a guy wouldn’t fuck him. He could’ve been attractive if he wasn’t slouching or wearing clothes that don’t fit him right or if he decided to shave that day. Don’t get me wrong, some men look good with a little stubble but in his case he looked like some slob who finally woke up and decided to drown himself in cheap cologne rather than take an actual shower. Even the most desperate would not consider going to bed with this man.

I was about to give my snarkiest and cruelest of replies until I saw the bartender give him his mug and I was appalled by what I saw. There was ice.

Here’s one thing you should know about me, I love my alcohol and I treat every single kind of liquor with the respect it deserves. If the first reason why I wouldn’t sleep with this man was because of his appearance my second would be the fact he asked the bartender to put ice in his beer.

I could feel the bartender’s remorse when he had to put ice into a perfectly good beer. So where’s that asshole that said the customer was always right? Because he’s fucking wrong and should see this slob drink his beer, if you can call it that.

I didn’t need to say anything; this sleaze ball didn’t even deserve to hear a snarky comeback coming out of my pretty little mouth.

All I had to do was pick up my jacket and walk away. His insistent calling was muted by the new generation’s sad excuse for synth pop and people screaming through the loud music.

But as I was leaving the club I noticed that tonight’s guests were a mix of desperate lovers and horny bastards doing anything to get into someone’s pants.

There’s the housewife trying to cover up the tan line of her wedding ring that she’s hiding in her purse. There’s the lonely man walking up to a pretty girl, his charming smile and witty pick-up lines are compensating for his lousy bed skills. Then there’s the already beautiful girl trying so hard to find confidence in a man’s arms, and then her insecurities will come creeping back as soon as he leaves the next morning.

I feel sorry for most of these shmucks, looking for love in a lust filled palace that reeks of piss and semen. All I wanted was a proper martini but my night was ruined because of a man who didn’t know how to drink his alcohol.

I wasn’t one of these lost, pathetic souls trying to find imaginary soul mates. I already found mine and no I’m not talking about the vodka in my liquor cabinet. I actually meant a decent human being.

Okay decent is too kind of a word for him, what I meant to say was douchebag. Like most people their way to avoid a sad, empty and lonely life was to settle with the next person who shows enough interest to stay longer than a few months. I settled so here I am enjoying the bliss of a long term relationship.

I won’t say I’m miserable, that would be wrong of me to say but even worse if I said I was happy. I’m not bored or depressed enough to leave yet I see no other reason for me stay as well. Unless you count my fear of turning into a bitter and desperate old woman trying to find 2 minute dates in some club.

Then yes, I should stay.

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