Why drinking and being "single" for the weekend don't mix

And no, it's not the reason you're thinking. So stop it!

As I believe I may have mentioned before, I'm more than a little naive. I am pretty sure if I were an actual single person going to bars to try and meet other single people I would have been stabbed to death in a dark alley by now.

So Friday night while my husband was out of town I was looking forward to having a few drinks with some friends at a local dive bar, where one of the friends wanted to meet up with her other friend who was paying his way through college by deep-frying cauliflower there. Over the course of a couple of hours I proceeded to plow my way through several glasses of beer. I returned from the restroom, weaving my way inefficiently through several local class reunion participants in nametags (ever grateful that I was not one of them) and sat back down at our table, where within a few moments a blond gentleman plopped down in the seat next to me.

I figured he was the cook friend we were meeting, so I started willingly participating in the conversation he started with me. I honestly don't remember anything we were discussing except that he said something flippant about someone who was bald, to which I replied...

Me: Hey, my husband is bald and I think it looks rather attractive on him.
Guy: Husband?
Me: Yeah, my husband Ben.
Guy: You're married? MARRIED? Oh, well THAT'S JUST GREAT.
Me (duh): Yes, it is great.
Guy (leaving half a pack of Pall Malls and a Bic lighter on the table): I'll be right back, okay?
Me: Um...
My friend, leaning over: Why were you talking to that guy?
Me: What do you mean? I thought he was your friend!
My friend: Erm, no...

It's at this point that I finally realized that even though I was clearly wearing a wedding ring this guy was trying to pick me up. See why I could never be a single person?

The more I added up the pieces the more I realized that this guy was an A-1 jerk, so I brilliantly decided to get back at him by smoking all of his Pall Malls. See what fabulous decision-making skills drunk people have?

I didn't finish the pack, but it somehow ended up in my purse and subsequently on my kitchen table the next morning, where my mother saw it upon arriving at my house for a day visit. "When did you take up smoking?" she asked. "Pall Malls! Ew!" So I told her the story. She smoked for 30 years, she said, and could never stomach anything as strong as Pall Malls.

Sweet merciful crap, help me! Coffee and a traecheotomy, please! And let's not forget a shower!

How old am I again? Never mind, don't answer that.