A couple weekends ago I had the honor of wing-womaning to my little brother and his friends. If you aren’t familiar with this practice, it’s when one woman joins a crew of men and assists them in their chick picking. I happen to be particularly skilled in this area, sometimes so good that the target hits on me. Off point completely. Regardless, as we sat in an apartment living room and strategized over Michelob Golden Lights and a carefully deejayed iTunes playlist, my brother’s best bud actually said the following to me:
“You’re so lucky, girls like you can have anything they want. You live a dream world.”
Wow. Newsflash in the most gargantuan proportion to me.
If this is a dream world, pray tell, what the hell does hell look like? Because the previous night I completely blacked out and lost three hours of my life and got my $350 camera stolen. My old landlord is MIA and owes me $850. The most genuine interest I’ve had from a man recently was a 50 year old wearing a chicken hat telling me I need to embrace life. I want to go on a vacation but “singles supplements” make it largely unaffordable. I really question if I can afford to have a $4.56 latte anymore. I managed to lose money co-hosting a garage sale. Out of the four cards I received on my birthday, one was from my bank. People run into me with their shopping carts at Target like I’m invisible. Panera was out of French Onion soup yesterday.
This is my dream world. Tickets on sale for entry, all it’ll cost you is a smile and maybe a “I like your shirt.”