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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..