The London Bartender.

I'm really worried this is going to become a series of sorts...'Gracie's the Singleton's Totally Ridiculous Misadventures'. 

Yes, I met another guy. Much like that time on the train, the Brighton-bound retro denim jacket disaster, I was given all the signals and I went for it. The results were unexpected.

I must say here, for probably the thousandth time, that I do not think that much of myself. Not in regards to romantic interest, anyway. Does that make sense? Like, if a human shows an interest in me it will take me FOREVER to a) notice it, and b) believe it. I went on so many coffee dates and random wanders/drives with my guy friends at college and then was bought drinks by male pals at uni, before I realised what was happening. What was their aim. Not aim, hint? They were hinting. And because I may be quick on the uptake but I suck at self-esteem sometimes, I would insist all my slightly wiser and more alert friends were wrong; they didn't fancy me, they couldn't, no way, they're just being friendly. 

So bearing this in mind, please understand just how blatant and shamelessly obvious this dude's flirting was. Okay? Even *I* picked up on it. I was 100% sure of it. Got that? I wasn't imagining anything. I promise. 

Bartender - let's call him Daniel, because I'll always protect identities on this blog, even when they don't necessarily deserve it - was chilled in his speech and thoughtful in posture. He was tall, longish hair beneath a branded snap back cap. Shouldn't have been my type, but there was something in his aura. Wiry frame, broad chest, not skinny but not enormously toned either. Relaxed smile but intense eyes. He complimented me once or twice, deliberately, coolly, before sauntering off to serve others. 

'Grace? An elegant name for a beautiful girl.' 

He made me approximately 6 cocktails over the course of the evening. I would catch him looking my way and when I caught him, he didn't waver. I liked the easy confidence. He was also surprised, though, it seemed, by me. Numerous times. He was happily taken aback when I referenced a TV show he loved; he did that eyebrow-raise lip-purse when I asked for mint in my drink instead of basil; every now and again this smile would creep in and I genuinely believed it was just for me, just because. 

I got tipsy and therefore brave. The perfect level of tipsy, I feel. I was rocking my jungle red lipstick and grinning with my tongue between my teeth, which I haven't done for ages. I wrote my number down on my bar receipt - my number and my full name, should he wish to find me online. I never do that. I never give out my number. I take other numbers, as it's safer - or I would, once upon a time, but these days I'm not getting any nor do I want any. 

He smiled and took the scrap of paper. He unfolded it, smirked, raised an eyebrow and pocketed it, thanking me. I got whispers of butterflies and wanted to dance. 

I'm making this sound romantic. It wasn't. It was just a sizzle. A flirtation. A rare thing for me at the moment, you understand. I forget how immensely awesome flirting makes me feel - especially these days, when my body is especially starved for attention and my gaze is never settling for long. 

He left the bar, and went home without saying goodbye, as I was watching the authors at the event reading aloud and stunning the crowd. I was buzzing. Books, friends, the perfect cocktail, and a nice warm dose of flirtation. Would it lead anywhere? I didn't know, and wasn't sure I cared. I felt good about myself. That's all that mattered. 

Then I got the text. As the event wound down and everyone gathered their things. I got the text, and I showed everyone, wordlessly. I couldn't quite believe it. I didn't know whether to laugh or seethe. Now, 24 hours on, I can safely say I've done both a fair bit. I've also felt ashamed, of myself and my behaviour...but then I've reminded myself, and had good friends remind me too, that I did nothing wrong. 

And he's just a bit of a prick, it seems. 

There. That should tell you all. I've edited out the bits in which he reveals his name, etc. That's just the upshot of the message. 

The text was a shit sandwich. Niceness, bomb drop, niceness. Sickening niceness in amongst the stinkiest nonsense. I am sad, yes I am, because I try and be brave now and again and I just get knocked back. No, worse, I get strung along and then knocked back. I'm made to feel silly, like it was all in my head - when I know, based on my fairly minimal experience in this kind of thing, that it was real and it did happen. There was something. 

All I can really say after this is...shame. 

A shame, and that poor girlfriend. 

This won't stop me being bold and boosting myself up in the future, but it may knock me for a while now...

Bartender, maybe we'll meet again. Probably not. But if we do, I'll be sure to tell you off in person. xoxo