It has come to my attention that I come across not as the awesome person that I am, but as a bitch.
A biatch.
Let me explain.
I’m a very funny person and, like, super pretty (please don’t disagree with me – my false sense of self-esteem is all I have right now), but it seems that I do not present myself in such a way. Last night I was out for dinner with my Mom and her best friend (who is pretty much like my aunt). We had a lovely dinner, during which my Mom was sure that our waiter was smitten with me.
Ok, really? Who could blame him, right? Except that I had on baggy jeans, an unflattering sweater, and red plaid shoes. No, I’m not kidding. Also, my Mom thinks that every guy we come across has a thing for me, and we all know that isn’t true (I love her confidence in me, though – I can always count on my Momma).
I can safely say that this guy wasn’t paying me any more attention that he would any regular customer. He was doing his job. He did, however, express that he hoped we enjoyed our show (we were going to the movies).
I, unable to let things slide, answered, “I thought you said ‘I hope you enjoyed THE show,’ and I was like ‘ummm yeah, sure, you were great.’”
It was supposed to be funny. Sarcastic. That’s my sense of humour.
Apparently I seemed to have hurt his feelings. And now I feel super bad. See, when I meet a new man, I usually put up an “I don’t care; I’m hilarious and don’t need you” front. It doesn’t matter if I find him attractive or not. It’s just my defense mechanism, something I do so that he can’t judge me. (No, I have not thought this through).
I also pulled a major biatch move the other day when I said goodbye to one of the bootcamp trainers, who was also sitting with his buddy at the table. I high-fived the trainer (I’m bringing high-fives back in style – pretty soon it WON’T be uncool to high-five after sex, which, apparently, it is now) and quickly glanced back to his friend, acknowledging him with a flippant point and a “bye…you” as I walked away.
You? It would have been better if I hadn’t acknowledged him at all. I basically told him, with my flippancy (new word of the day), that he’s not worth the time to even stand still to speak to him, let alone to actually catch his name.
I’m sorry, Boston Pizza man. I’m sorry, bootcamp trainer’s friend (aka “you”).
I’m not a bitch. Honestly. Friends tell me that I look like one, but that’s just my face. I’m nice! Promise.
Let’s all be friends.
Hugs and kisses,
Bella
