Twenty-seven

I had my eye on a guy (probably because he resembled Dean, the drummer, from Red Wanting Blue) sitting with his friends nearby.  He was intently watching a basketball game, and I’m wise enough not to interrupt that.  My friends and I left to get food next door, and then after a few minutes I decided Twenty-seven needed to have my phone number.  In true Penelope fashion, I wrote him a note: In case you want to go dancing at Madrone tonight or for dinner sometime soon, you should call me.  I walked back into the bar and up to him and said, “Hi, I’m going to be awkward for a minute.  On the off chance that you’re single, here is my number.  You should call me.”  I handed him the note, he (as most of the others) looked a like a deer caught in headlights and managed to reply, “Okay” before I walked away. 

After I told my friend of this latest attempt, she insisted that she is going to take me out and show me how to properly ask out a guy.  For the record, I know how it is supposed to be done, but I’ve never been one for doing things in a typical fashion.