So the story starts off pretty blandly: I was out bar hopping this Saturday night with a girl friend of mine. We started our night off with some sushi and white wine and then headed to a new bar that we have not been to yet for some dancing. Pretty mundane, right?
Oh, I wish.
Now I haven't been dancing in a while and, considering that it is one of my favorite activities, I was itching to just let loose on the dance floor. I mean, it's just one of those things that keeps you young and going.
Another good thing about dancing is that if you're a pretty decent dancer, you will inevitably get hit on by almost any guy around you. It must be something about the dance floor, the energy of it, that grabs even the more shy guys by the balls and pulls them towards the dancing girls.
So, of course, I am dancing and I spot a cute guy from across the way. Tall, dark and handsome, just the way I like them, I see him begin to approach me as he locks eyes with me. Sure, I'm in for some innocent dancing. Mr J shouldn't even worry - I love the kid and wouldn't think about crossing any lines; plus, dancing for me is just that - dancing. It doesn't hurt, however, if it is dancing with someone sexy.
So, Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome approaches me and I am pleasantly surprised. He's got some good moves! I am thinking, this is great. It's not even midnight yet and I have already found someone good to dance with without having my toes stepped on.
But then he decides to speak.
At first I didn't think anything of it. In fact, I thought I was imagining things. How could an attractive guy like him have such BAD BREATH?! Silently, I prayed that he wouldn't talk a lot and just let me enjoy the dance.
But then, Mr Chatty Cathy, decides to speak again. Nope, I definitely wasn't imagining anything. The dude needed a Listerine strip. BADLY.
I tried to be coy about it. "Looks like your glass is empty. You should get another drink," I said, hoping that the smell of alcohol would hide whatever stench was coming out of his mouth. (Gross, gross!)
"I will later," he said in response, clueless that I was now deliberately holding my breath, trying not to inhale too much, in his presence.
I mean, seriously?
Luckily for me, my friend kept getting harassed by some drunken fool throughout the night and she finally has had enough. She tugged on my shirt, signaling to me that she was ready to go. I wasn't about to start disagreeing.
"My friend wants to leave.. BYE!"
I bolted out of there as if my life depended on me escaping the bar in under sixty seconds. Fortunately, the rank breath-ed guy did not follow me to the exit. I flung the exit door open and made my escape into the cold air of the night. As I stepped outside, I, finally, took a nice long breath.
Lesson learned: no amount of hot can save a man if he doesn't have a nice breath. And that's the absolute truth.