I arrived a little early for a charity event on Saturday, so I took the opportunity to scope out the crowd.  As luck would have it, a good looking gentleman of indeterminate age was sitting in front of me. He had two friends with him, who also looked delightful. I had two friends with me. I did the math, and thought… this could be magic.

Actually, I thought, “it’s not like I’m going to talk to him.” But that’s beside the point.

I was looking at the back of his head and thinking pleasant thoughts while trying to will him to notice me.  I’m convinced it is only the brief duration that truly kept the psychic connection from happening — and, possibly, my lack of psychic powers.  I asked a friend for advice, and she said something outrageous about talking to him. I pointed out that I do my best work by text message these days, and I didn’t have his phone number.

I was defeated. I briefly pondered her advice regarding the dropping of a piece of notepaper and suavely handing it back to him suggesting that he, in fact, dropped said note (which would, naturally, have my number on it). Then I realized that all I had in my tiny going-out-purse was a slightly used Kleenex.

So, I settled back to enjoy the show and silently rue my lack of forethought (and follow-up).

And then the dude next to him put his arm around my would-be date.

Straight guys do that, right?

No?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Foiled.