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It’s Saturday in the late afternoon and I’m standing in my kitchen drinking a middle of the road pinot noir with Megan. It’s cold and damp outside and I would love nothing more than to just stay inside tonight and touch her butt on the couch. She brought one of those giant Lily Pulitzer weekender bags with clothes in it over to my house on Friday night and she’s been here ever since.
It looks like the designer just told someone to bukkake a duffel bag with flowers instead of semen, but I don’t say that because we’ve only just stopped yelling about the athleisure fiasco with her friend the weekend prior. I keep looking at the Lily bag in the corner of my bedroom and wondering why anyone would buy something so heinous.
I hate it more each time I glance over at the corner. It’s empty; it’s been that way for four hours now. The clothes she’s brought over are strewn haphazardly all over my floor. She’s changed no less than three times in anticipation for the birthday party we’re attending tonight and she can’t seem to find a combination that she likes. I’m wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and I’ve got plans on wearing a blazer over the t-shirt once we leave my place.
We finish the bottle of wine off and make our way to the birthday party (which is being held at a club) with a gift bag in tow for the birthday girl. There’s bottle service, music that makes my heart race, and leather couches that I’m hesitant to sit on because I don’t really feel like catching an STI tonight.
I’m standing on one end of our elevated platform talking to a buddy of mine and looking down at the people below us. They seem to be having more fun downstairs in general population than we are up here, but I keep that to myself because this table, this bottle service — it all cost a lot of money, and the boyfriend of the birthday girl didn’t even make us chip in for it.
I can see Megan on the other end of our platform talking to a guy I know through a friend of a friend. He comes around to pregames and stuff sometimes and we’re always pleasant to each other, but I don’t know him, know him, you know?
I don’t think anything of it until about fifteen minutes later when I see them in the same spot. She’s laughing and he’s talking with his face about two inches from hers yelling in her ear about God knows what. I tell the friend that I’m talking to that I need to go to the bathroom. When I come back, I walk over to Megan and asks her if she needs anything. She says no flatly and turns back around to talk to the guy on the couch. I walk back over to my buddy.
“Am I crazy or is that guy hitting on her?”
“Nah, man I was just talking about that with someone else. I’m definitely seeing what you’re seeing.”
“Well, what do I do about it?”
“Two options here. You can either ignore it or go tell that dude to back off. I can help you out if you need it.”
“I think I like option 1 more.”
Just then, Megan comes over to where we’re standing. She saw my buddy and I looking over at her and talking and she asks what we were just talking about. I’m about five drinks deep at this point, and while my brain is telling me to let this entire thing go, the alcohol in my system says the exact opposite.
“Oh, we were just talking about that guy over there who is blatantly hitting on you in front of me.”
“Are you serious right now?” Megan says.
“Yeah I am, and I’m not fucking crazy because these guys saw it too!”
Megan pulls me off to the side of the table where no one else is standing. The guy she was talking to on the couch keeps looking over at me and smiling and now I’m in a state of rage that cannot be reversed.
I can feel eyes on us from the rest of the group as well. She says she doesn’t want to make a scene, and I smile at her so that the rest of our group who is watching this unfold thinks we’re joking around.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I say.
I step down from our booth and walk outside. I ask a guy smoking if I can bum a cigarette, but he says it’s his last one. I hail a cab instead of going back inside and when I get home, I put all of Megan’s clothes back into the Lily bag.
When she buzzes my door the next morning, I tell her where the bag is. She asks if I want to talk about last night, and I tell her I have to go to work. It’s Sunday and she knows I don’t have to be in today, but she leaves without arguing with me. I don’t think I’ll be seeing Megan again, and I don’t really care..
Respond
jduda@grandex.co
Saying you have to go work on a Sunday morning is a hilarious move.
I never understood option 2. Like if someone is hitting on my girl and she doesn’t feel comfortable enough tell him to fuck off, I can definitely step in. But if someone is hitting on her and she’s reciprocating? Well then my problem is with my girl, not the guy hitting on her. You did the right thing, Duda.
Megan suuuuuucccckkkkksssss
Totally agree. Aside from having lame friends (#athelesiurefiasco2k18 and a bottle service birthday sounds terrible to me, free or not) I can’t get behind having a Lilly P weekender after college. I also love how he has just Irish exited the last two terrible outings.
Yup good riddance
Honestly, based on what happened last time, you handled that fine. You were clearly done with her and cut ties without any more drama. Well played.
I second this
I think he caused a little bit of drama.
Counterpoint: he didn’t cause enough drama.
Are you sure it wasn’t a Vera Bradley bag?
Yup you’re right. That’s exactly what it was
Granted, yes the VB duffel is ugly, but it’s still the most functional bag I own for when I will be away 3-5 nights.
Came here to ask this same question haha those things are awful.
*women everywhere burn that vera Bradley bag they still have from middle school*
Ugh I hate being that basic bitch, but Lilly Pulitzer has 2 L’s, just down vote me now I deserve it. Also it was probably a Vera Bradley bag.
slash and burn duda is best duda
Just yesterday you post an article about how pregames are better than going out and today you post about a club that makes your heart beat fast. I think you might be a little too mature for this girl. That’s saying a lot but her friends seem shitty and she’s not much better.
Megan sounds like a wet blanket. The first red flag being that she associates with people like the spilt drink leggings girl and owns a Lily Pulitzer/Vera Bradley duffel bag should send any guys running in the opposite direction.
Dodged a bullet there, Duda, and you handled it well.
I don’t mean to sound like a cuck, but like it or not, having random guys hit on your girlfriend is a tax for out kicking your coverage. I kinda see it as a compliment and I’m glad my girlfriend is self aware enough to laugh about it rather than act like Megan.
If you have an attractive girl, she’s going to get hit on and there’s not really much you can do about it, because you’re not always going to be there. However, If you guys are dating and she brags about how much she gets hit on to you, that’s a huge red flag. Besides the fact, that it’s obvious that she’s doing it to make you jealous and make herself seem more desirable.