In the spirit of yesterday’s “Singles Awareness Day” (because spending last Saturday night at the casino with my grandmother didn’t fully alert me to my pathetic state of life), I am considering an addition to my resume.
Professional Wing Woman.
You already know that I’m an amazing Wing Woman. You should also already know that I don’t actually hate Valentine’s Day, but I still celebrate being single with my own bitter and cynical twist.
Then, I saw on the Today Show my new calling. Well, my calling is actually to teach English and become an astronaut. But, you know, a girl’s gotta have hobbies, and why not get paid for them like the hippies on Etsy? So, when I am safely back in the gravitational pull of Earth and not instructing about rhetorical devices in literature, I will play back-up for single, lonely men in bars who can’t pick up women on their own.
I’m totally serious. Here’s the premise. A guy brings a girl along with him so that he doesn’t seem so intimidating to single women in the room. (Clearly, the intimidation factor is what is keeping him from scoring a date in the first place.) The guy and the girl make it very clear that they are not together (otherwise the lines get a little blurry…). Then, the non-couple strategically approaches a group of unsuspecting women (or men, I suppose, although in my experience, gay men do not usually need wing women). The woman then initiates conversation with the poor girls who are totally not going to get hit on, thereby distracting them and leaving an opening for the guy to make a move on the other girl who has been deemed “his type,” “the hottest,” or “desperate.”
I could totally do that!
First of all, I can compliment the hell out of other women. I love shoes. I love hair. I can quote movies like nobody’s business, and I have a completely healthy interest in reality TV. Basically, I’m set for a night of witty anecdotes and charming comparisons to Charlize Theron (masterfully implying the acting talent which earned her an Oscar, but avoiding any references to the character which placed her in the Academy’s sight– a middle-aged, pockmarked serial killer). I know what works, and I work it hard.
Second, I have experience in convincing other women, when I have arrived at an event with a man, that I am not in a relationship with him. So well, in fact, that when my guy friends were all smitten/looking for a little somethin’-somethin’ with our well-endowed waitress, we once successfully convinced her that I was a lesbian, thereby opening the door for any of the guys I was with to have a shot with her.
(Ok, so all I actually did was chat with her and keep my hands above the table so she would know that I wasn’t with any of them. One of the guys gets the credit for writing my name and number on his receipt with a note that said, “Because you just never know…” Really, it was a brilliant move. And we got free fries, so I wasn’t complaining. The way to a woman of any sexuality’s heart? Chocolate and flowers, yes, but beer and fries go a long, long way.)
So basically, I’m set for an additional part-time job for the rest of my young, attractive days. I can go to school/teach/kick educational ass during the day, and then help shy, pimply, socially awkward young men land the women of their dreams.
I will be responsible for more marriages than The Bachelor/The Bachelorette. (That’s 2, in case anyone is counting.) And it will be just as selfless as my last attempt at matchmaking– in the eighth grade, when I set up my long time crush with his long time crush because he said he’d buy me a teddy bear and I thought that when he bought me a present that he would see that I was actually the love of his life and then he would dump the girl I had set him up with and be my boyfriend forever and ever.
Yeah, that didn’t work. And I never got my teddy bear.
So. Not bringing up serial killers. Pretending to be a lesbian. Altruistic teddy bears. I obviously was made for this position.
It’s amazing the self-discovery one does in one’s twenties, isn’t it?
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