“Hey. You’re really beautiful. Can I buy you a drink?”
Uhhhhh. What do I do? I have a boyfriend, but you can’t just turn down a drink. If I let him buy it for me, he thinks it’s a free pass into my panties. Maybe I’ll grab the drink and bolt.
“She has a boyfriend.” My friend Sarah had to cut in because my mouth was dry and I was just staring at the dude as if he just told me Harry Potter is stupid.
I find myself in this situation all too often. The thing is, prior to getting into a relationship, I was the biggest flirt of all time. When my girls and I headed out into the night, I always had the same mission: locate the hottest guy and go from there. And I would. Even if I didn’t end up with the sexiest male in the same locality, I would at least lower my standards (often times a little too low) and lock lips with whoever was spitting good enough game. Being a complete makeout whore was part of my personal brand.
Fast-forward some time and somehow or another my boyfriend roped me in and got me to *gulp* settle down. I love my boyfriend, and would never in a million years cheat on him no matter what. However, the problem here stems from the fact that I love, love, love the attention other guys give me. There’s a reason I was such a makeout slut: attention is kind of my Achilles’ heel.
I mean, come on. Having strangers tell you they love your eyes, or your laugh, or just want to bone is straight up flattering. You know deep down you love getting hit on, no matter how creepy the guy coming onto you may seem. It’s part of being a female. Sure, my boyfriend tells me I look nice prior to going to brunch or whatever. But it’s not the same as having a completely random human picking me out of the crowd just to compliment and hit on me. There are other females in the same vicinity (granted, he likely hit on most of them too), and some guy still chose me to be his one-night stand. It makes me feel special in a way that my boyfriend can’t.
Why can’t my boyfriend make me feel like that? Because he already has me. He’s not some creepy pervert bro just looking to slap it and tap it. He’s actually here to stay…I think. He gives me attention, but he is kind of obligated to tell me I have better hair than Ariana Grande.
Regardless, when a random dude comes strutting up to me just to say, “Hey. Did it hurt…when you fell from heaven?” I kind of get to have my cake and eat it too. I get to know I still got it going on in the eyes of strangers, and I have a dope penis to hop on afterwards. Win-win..