Picture it: a rainy, unusally windy night in South Carolina; my two friends and I enter a dimly lit Ruby Tuesday's around 9:30. I only took about three minutes to get ready because I figured it was no use fussing over my hair when it was so windy out. It's always when you spend the least amount of time getting ready that you wind up embarking on some crazy adventure in which it pays to look nice, or in my case, leave the waiter your number.

When my male friend told me the waiter was hitting on me, I didn't really believe him. Ok, he was nice to me, and kept talking to me, and asked me where I was from, but so what? I don't ever get hit on, or flirted with, and I'm not just being negative I'm speaking the truth. Then the two suggested I leave my number underneath the massive dessert dish I had ordered. First of all, this dessesrt was the fucking biggest thing I've ever seen in my life, and I'd already downed half of it like a depressed fatass whiny bitch who just broke up with her boyfriend. Real sexy, you know. The waiter came up to check on us, and I got so embarrassed and started laughing, and he was all like, "Come on, finish that thing, you're small, don't worry about it." Why am I such a tool? I can see him going into the kitchen and alerting everyone that the girl with the poodle hair is slowly but surely making her way to the bottom of a dish that is the size of half her body. Oh man, I'm real hot, with my spoon and tattered napkin. So anyway, I get the guts to write my name and number on an unsoiled napkin, and I look at my friends and say, "As soon as I do this, we bolt out of here, seriously." Then, with every ounce of courage I had, I slipped the napkin under the dish and fucking ran like the wind out of that place. Oh man. It takes so much work to do gutsy things like have balls and give your number to people. I feel bad for guys, sort of...not really. He still hasn't called, but whatever, because I did something I've never done before and it felt a little cool...ok it felt awesome.