You know why? It's because I'm terrible at talking to guys I meet in bars. Honestly, I have no idea what to say to you. That's great that you're trying to talk to me while a remix of the latest Lady Gaga tune is blaring away in the club, but your approach makes me want to run away. As you lean in shouting your name into my ear, I clam up and smile meekly or defer to my girlfriends.
Maybe it’s because one summer at a Jersey Shore bar, I was really friendly to one of your kind and he proceeded to grope me on the dance floor and lick my face. I’m sorry, I’m scarred. One grabby drunk ruined the lot of you for me. Maybe it’s because despite my confidence, the shy, nerdy grade-schooler in me comes out when you--a stranger who may want to sleep with me--tries to get my attention.
Although I might be wearing a low-cut little number, in reality I'm reserved. I’m more comfortable meeting guys in three circumstances: through work, school or a friend. I’ve dated one person that I met at a bar, and that’s only because we connected over an Old Dirty Bastard song. Come on, an encounter like that deserves some follow-up.
Maybe if you bought me a book instead of a Bud Light, I’d emerge from my shy cocoon and blossom into the outgoing butterfly you want to see. But it usually takes years for that to happen, so you should probably move on to the girl making out with her best friend on the bar stool over yonder.