The Meat Market

I’m a hermit. A very happy hermit. I don’t have any desire to be social into the wee hours of the morning. I’m tired. I work a lot. I love being home the few hours that I can.

Once or twice a year, I can be talked into it. It takes my best friend Miss Fancy to convince me because if she’s going, I’ll go. Miss Lovely calls with the same idea. It’s fate. We’re going out.

Coincidentally, it’s a celebration day. The jeans I have on are 4 sizes smaller than the pair I had on the last time we went out. I’d gone shopping for a smaller pair that morning and ran into an acquaintance.

M- Well it’s good that you don’t have time to eat anymore because you look great!

Thanks?

It’s rare for me to leave the Dumpling and wonderful to sit and laugh with my friends. Miss Fancy is the busiest boss lady I know and Miss Lovely lives out of town. We are also blessed to have Mr. Fancy join us, and he is hilarious.

They both went home, and I stayed to visit with a few other friends I haven’t seen in years. Once upon a time I never would have felt comfortable staying by myself, but it’s been just long enough that I forgot why you always keep a wingman.

It didn’t take very long for the manfolk to realize I was alone.

An adorable boy celebrating his 21st birthday asked me to dance with him. I’m sorry, but no. Just out of solidarity to his mother. No. There are a million little girls grinding away on each other in every direction. I aimed him towards the sluttiest one and wished him good luck. I also aimed him away from my dear friend’s daughter, who is ALSO celebrating her 21st. Oy vey.

An exceedingly drunk man in his 50’s moved around the bar to stand and stare uncomfortably at me. Unsmiling. My conservative county commissioner friend kept laughing and pointing at him, exclaiming loudly that he felt terrible for me being single. This creeper is the reason I need to buy a gun.

The bartender walked over and smiled at me.

B- The gentleman at the end of the bar would like to buy you a drink.

J- Tell him I’d rather have a hat.

I hear a girl say “What a bitch” to her friend as the bartender handed me a hat.

J- Yep. A bitch with a hat, thank you.

I don’t have this in me anymore. It’s just… gross. If this is what it takes to meet people, then I quit. I’m delighted to go adopt a big dog and finally sign up for those shooting lessons I’ve been dying to take. Those ideas are appealing. The bar scene is not.

I’m grateful for the reminder of how easy it really is to walk in the door and pick out one I want. I’ve been hungry for a long time and I have run myself, thinner. It’s not horrible to see them smile, appreciatively. Thank you, kind strangers for the lecherous looks, free drinks and the hat/trophy. Once upon a time, that was enough for me and I feel pretty damn fantastic that it isn’t, anymore. I caught myself looking around, silently thanking God that this isn’t a part of my life.

I would honestly rather be knitting. Hell… I’d rather be doing laundry, dishes, or anything else. The meat market is just not for me. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m a garden, not a cow, and allowing anyone to treat me like a snack isn’t worth the temporary pleasure that results in long term self loathing.

Cheers, boys… until next year. Thanks for the ego boost and lovely reminder that I’ve finally learned to value myself. That was totally worth the creepy guy staring at me all night.

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