Are the men just pluckier here?

Unfortunately, right after I finished my weekly Saturday morning brunch indulgence and was on my second cup of coffee, a large package was dropped outside my apartment door around 1 pm today. Alas, it was the writing competition crap that was due last week and never made it to me the three times it was attempted to be sent. It made it now. My roommate and I sat around today in our sweatpants and T-shirts watching TV, lounging, chatting, yawning, stretching. It looked like a beautiful day outside today, but I wouldn't know. After sitting on the couch all day, grading writing competition packets, M and I fell asleep on our respective couches. I woke up around 7 pm. We resumed TV watching, I resumed writing competition grading, and M had the brilliant suggestion that we crack open one of the bottles of red wine. M received a phone call from a friend of hers around 11 to go out to a club in an up-and-coming hip area of town. She tried to drag me out, but I decidedly refused. Deep down inside I wanted to go out, but I think it takes me time to work up the right energy to go out, and since I'd spent all day working on the "I'm going to sit around in my sweatpants until tomorrow morning" energy, it was far too late for me to change my mind.

What I realized, however, is that this bizarre need for me to prep myself mentally for going out is rooted in some deep insecurities. [note: this is getting far more personal than I ever intended for this blog, but I'll share for now. perhaps will delete later.] I was even having a wonderful hair day and a wonderful skin day - these things cannot be artificially induced and rarely can be artificially created. Nevertheless, I had volunteered to drive M to the subway stop because I wanted to stop and buy dishwashing detergent and wouldn't rest until the dishes were washed, and secretly I was happy to have the house to myself so I could engage in some therapeutic housecleaning. At 11 pm on a Saturday night. While we were walking out, two men were walking into the lobby. A not particularly attractive guy dressed in a ratty T-shirt and gym shorts turned and watched us walk by - me in my grey sweatpants and T-shirt with lime green flip flops, and M dressed to go out. He whistled and said, "Where are you ladies headed tonight?" I whipped around, looked him square in the eye, gestured to my clothing, and asked, "Does it look like I'm going anywhere special?" He replied, "Well girl, I'm not going anywhere tonight either." I shook my head and walked out of the building. I giggled when we got outside and said to M, "Did that guy really think it was ok to be leering at two girls with that line and dressed in those clothes?"

After dropping M off at the subway around 11:45, I lime-green-plastic-flip-flopped my way to the 24 hr drugstore to buy, with much delight, dishwasher detergent. On my way out of the store, a young man turned to his friend and said, "i wouldn't mind going home with her" or something along those lines. In the reflection of the glass doors, I could see that they were both looking in my direction.

I think that part of the reason that I stayed home tonight is that when I go out, I am laboring under the implicit assumption that I'm not particularly beautiful and thus, I'm not going to be the one that people approach in bars. Since that has not been the case in the past two weeks, I attribute this to pure luck and assume that there is just no way my streak of luck could continue this evening. Thus, it's better than I just stay at home instead of going out and being disappointed. Furthermore, I'm looking forward to scrubbing the bathroom. But tonight I thought, if I can get people to talk to me while I'm wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt, and flip flops, and buying dishwashing detergent at midnight on a Saturday night, then surely if I were dressed decently and at a bar I could find someone to talk to.

Maybe, then, it's not just luck.