A Mysterious European Girl Has My Number

I took my mom out to dinner tonight.

It was for Mother's Day. And, before you get all "you're late, buddy" on me, you should know that it was for Mother's Day 2009. That's last year, just in case you're an idiot.

See what I did there? Now who's on the defensive, dickhead?

Anyway, we went to Rutabegorz near the Orange Circle. We had finished eating and were just talking, and we were actually having an honest discussion of family and money. It was a conversation of depth when our waiter approached our table awkwardly.

"This is going to sound weird," our waiter said reluctantly.

"You want us to leave?" my mom said with a laugh. "Do you need the table?"

"No, no," the waiter said with a smile. "It's that...ok, there's a girl sitting at one of the patio tables. I think she's European or something, but...anyway, she wanted me to get your number."

"What?" I said, visibly confused.

"For her, not me," he said with a smile and a shrug.

My mom started laughing.

Years ago, I would've made a joke of it or gone up to the girl and said, "Yo! I heard you wanted my number! Well, we ain't gonna do that. You and me, we're gonna do differently. You down? Good. Here's my address. Send me yo underwear in the mail instead."

Alright, alright, alright. I never actually did that. I never even thought of it until now. But it's certainly something to consider saying, yeah?

Anyway, I think I reacted with the five stages of grief.

1. DENIAL: "There's no way a girl asked a waiter to get my number."
2. ANGER: "This should happen all the time!"
3. BARGAINING: "I'll give the waiter my number if he tells me how hot she is."
4. DEPRESSION: "Why would a girl want my number?"
5. ACCEPTANCE: "Ok, here's my number."

So I wrote down my name and phone number on a blank bill and handed it to the waiter. He thanked me and admitted that the whole thing was bizarre but pretty funny.

As the waiter was rushing off with my phone number for the European girl, my mom said, "But tell her he's already here with another woman!"

My mom continues to laugh watching the waiter dash off before turning to me and noticing that I'm staring at her like a crazy person.

"What?" she responds. "How do they know I'm not a cougar?"

To this, I just keep my eyes wide and shake my head. And my mom continued to grin.

I realized then how full of shit I am. Well, not really me. Joke Me is full of shit. I have always made jokes about how great it would be if girls approached guys (maybe they do it in Europe). And it finally happened and I didn't talk to the girl. Instead, I felt awkward. Some mysterious European girl asked for my number in a local cafe and I didn't talk to her. I just felt out of place. The whole thing seemed surreal. It was so cinematic and weird that I just sort of wanted to get out of there before the European girl maybe came and talked to me.

As I was leaving, a waitress approached me and said, "Hey, thanks for doing that. The European girl was at one of my tables and she asked me to do that."

"No, that was pretty cool. Super flattering for sure," I said, looking out the window to try and spot her.

"She's at the last patio table in the back," the waitress said half-pointing.

"How old is she anyway?" I ask without thinking.

"She's not jailbait, if that's what you're asking," she says with a grin that looks like it's swimming from cheek to cheek.

"I'm actually not really sure what I'm asking," I said, leaning against the door, heading out slowly.

So, we left. I looked for her and I didn't see anyone. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now I keep checking my phone. Ugh. And now I'm going to have to come up with excuses why she hasn't called or texted and I don't even know her! I've never met her! I've never even seen her! But, goddamn, she's stressing me out.

See, this is why my number's not in the phone book. It's too stessful.

That's it. If she calls, we're breaking up.

I have no idea what stage of grief I'm at. I hope insanity's one.

Ah well, farewell, European girl. You boosted my ego for an evening. I've enjoyed your sexy mystery.