"You're totally busted"

I was ready!

• Disco nap? check
• Quick review of the code of conduct? check
• Moderately lubricated liquored? check
• Lookin' good? uh, sure

OK, just to set the record straight (so to speak), I do not own the previously mentioned lucky outfit. But I felt nearly as ridiculous in my ensemble of t-shirt, long shorts, and white Pumas as I set out for Oxford Street. The t-shirt is so bland, the shorts just don't fit properly, the Pumas just aren't that comfortable. But after trying on eighteen a few outfits, this was the unfortunate end result best I could do. I hate feeling like a twat, but that's truly how I felt. Still, I felt the need to seriously cut a rug, and serious body issues (damn those 10 pounts of holiday happy fat) weren't gonna stop me from doing that!

Ain't it always the way? When you don't feel the least bit attractive (like you've sprayed on the man-repellent real good), you meet a nice guy. Sorry, two nice guys.

The place I had hoped to go for my rug-cuttin' wasn't open (public holiday, schmublic holiday), leaving me disappointed but determined. I went across the road to the bar with which I have a love/hate relationship: I love the cheesy music, but hate feeling like I'm the oldest one in a bar full of self-medicated twinks. No matter, it would do.

I saw him the second I walked into the bar. Not a twink, but a handsome smiley guy. He was wearing a red t-shirt and sitting at the bar with his platonic friend and nothing more boyfriend. Now, I may be shy and have difficulty making eye contact all the time at times, but when someone's boring a hole in your torso with their glare, even I notice. On a return trip to the bar to replenish my beer, I saw him take a couple of steps back to check out my ass. I gave myself a round of mental high-fives and thought, "Take this opportunity."

I got my beer, took a step to my right, and smiled directly at him. He grinned (great teeth!) and I leaned in. "You're totally busted," I said.....

Tune in tomorrow for the conclusion.