Frands, Sweet Frands

Finding a good wingman these days is impossible. Finding my once on-point flirting skills these days is equally impossible.

I ventured out with some most beloved cohorts/friends/classmates/actual friends for some drinks after class.

Let's start by saying, I was wearing some killer shoes. Snakeskin ballet flats with yoga pants? I was clearly at the top of my game and ready to mingle. Fortunately for us, we had a super hot waiter and I was instantly like "let me practice being back on the market with your fiiiiine flannel-clad self!"

 I turned to my friend Chris, desperate for a wingman.

"What do you want me to do? 

Drop the napkin by your shoe so he'll pick it up 

and start talking about snakeskin?" 

Ummmm if you think that will work...yes.

He told me this wouldn't work (but I still don't believe him). 

I even suggested maybe we could all drop our napkins at the same time 

(which would look super weird, but also help make sure I wasn't hitting on a gay guy again),

 but Chris still said no.

Whatever.

So I took it on myself.

He came over to fill all three of our waters, PERFECT time to catch him in some conversation.

"So," I said boldly, "busy night?"
"Uhm well it's a Monday so not really."

And then I faceplanted in my drink. Like literally did not acknowledge his answer verbally, just slowly slunk down to my straw until he walked away.

Except not at all. Not at all this smooth.

Hanna and Chris refused to speak. Chris literally spit his water out and just waved his arms. That bad. Guys, I am so bad at flirting.

But I have frands and I have snakeskin ballet flats and that's all a girl really needs, right?