Petty Ex-Hater

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
Dating, Wall Street 0 Comments

When you ask people what is an important characteristic of someone they date, you always hear, “that my friends like him/her”. How many times have you gone through a break-up and afterwards your friends tell you how they, “never really liked the person,” and “they’re so glad you broke up”? We’ve all been there, but what about when you have to meet their friends? That’s even worse!
Let me explain. I’ve been dating Wall Street for about a month now, nothing too serious, just coffee, movies and a little bit of sex. (I give everyone I date nicknames, which is very important to know. This particular guy’s nickname is Wall Street, obviously because of where he works.) 
In New York City, during Pride weekend, all of the gays throw house parties like it’s 2999, but that’s not the point. Wall Street invited me to be his date to one of these parties. (For the record I would like to state that I am not a typical gay. No rainbows, no pink, no parades, period!) I agreed to go, after it was made abundantly clear that there would be a well stocked bar.
We arrived, and everything was off to a running start. Gay men have a tendency to kiss you on the cheek rather than just shaking your hand, as a New Yorker I find this to be an incredible violation of space. DON’T STEP INTO MY BUBBLE! The host immediately commented, “you’re all wet!”, which I was. It was a million degrees outside and humid like the seventh circle of hell, unfortunately I had worn jeans and a heavier shirt to appear somewhat put together in front of Wall Street’s friends. When what I should have done was stick to my usual shorts and a tank top, but live and learn.
The evening progressed rapidly due to the incredible amount of vodka that was going into each drink. I can hold my own, but after three vodkas with a drop of pink whatever, I was hammered. This is where things took a downward turn. Who doesn’t have the ability to speak their mind when they’re drunk? I look up and there is this person coming in the front door. “Is that a boy or a girl?” I ask, loudly. “That’s my ex,” snaps Wall Street. Now, not only was I the sloppy drunk date, but I was also the petty ex-hater. In my defense, I had no idea it was his ex, but I stand by what I said. After all, I am a petty ex-hater.
As the party ended I thought I would be free from additional humiliation, but that’s just not my luck. We went to the after party, where a very blonde boy decided he was interested in talking to me. I wasn’t interested in anything more than the cosmo they were passing me over his head. Yes, we were drinking cosmos at this point, but it was a gay party, which makes it totally appropriate. Over the next thirty minutes blondie found me three more times and reintroduced himself to me. Irritated, I reprimanded him for being an idiot. Now I was the: bitchy-sloppy-drunk-petty-ex-hater.
The moral of this entire roundabout story is: Even after all of this, Wall Street’s best friend still likes me. So when it comes to meeting the friends of the person you are dating you just have to hope they have extremely good taste, otherwise you’re screwed.