Even Paul McCartney Had Wings

"Take time for your pleasure, And laugh with love. Take the hand of another, And sing for the wings of a dove" Madness from "Wings of a Dove"

When the nurse came in to administer my dose of happiness inducers she could still smell the beer that was seeping out of every pore of my body. The look of disappointment on her face told me that she was sad that I chose to over consume, but I gotta tell you, it was just what the doctor ordered. The week has zapped the life out of me and I nearly passed on my evening out due to exhaustion, but I'm no quitter. I showered, donned my bowling shirt, scented up, and set out with a mission to introduce myself to anyone and everyone.

I arrived at the bar to find my beloved Bree behind the bar and my usual chair at the end of that bar was unoccupied. Lucky me. As I was a little light on funds, since I haven't gotten paid from HellJob yet, I decided on beer instead of rum. Bree decided that she would charge me for a pitcher, but she would tap my beers one at a time to avoid warming. What a doll.

It was race night in North Carolina which meant that my evening would be revolve around conversations about a sport that I really have nothing to say about. So, already my mission was facing some obstacles, but I was determined. Sitting next to me was a wonderfully drunk couple, April and Ron. They were great about answering my race related questions, being a good couple of single serving friends. Bree checked on me from time to time, filling my beer as it got low. I love her more and more every time I go in there.

When the race ended the crowd vanished. As that particular bar closes at midnight, stupid Sunday booze laws, I decided to head up to a private club that gets to stay open. I was a little tipsy, but not drunk, my tab, $6.75. Bree got a 13 dollar tip. Yeah, I love her.

I arrived at the tavern in high spirits.As I walked in I was greeted by my Irish friend Kevin, it was his birthday so there was much to celebrate. It was with Kevin that I realized something interesting about myself.

For some reason my irrational fear of rejection has always kept me from simply just walking up to women and saying hello. However, as a wingman, the rejection factor is zero. The job of a good wingman in to help his partner close the deal. There are many tasks that may be involved, but the initial introduction is the most crucial. I introduced Kevin to Jill, whom I had never met before sidling up to her and saying "Have you met Kevin?" Granted I'm no Barney Stintson, but I got the two of them talking, excused myself and went back to the table of Kevin's celebration. His friend, and my new one, Mike looked at me and said "Where were you five months ago when I was single?" Apparently, a good wingman is hard to find in South Carolina.

I chatted up a woman named Brooke and after getting stiff armed by her I started talking to Crystal. Neither gal would end up fulfilling my aching need for physical contact, if you know what I mean, but it was still a good night out. I wanted to sleep in seeing is that I closed the bar, but my two year old nephew decided at eight that I needed to wake up for pancakes. If it would have been anyone else I would have hit them with a shoe, but for him I got up and had breakfast.

Why is meeting people so hard?

Dixie Cup of Love: The Wingmen