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oh dang.

CONTEXT: I was meeting a friend at a bar near my apartment after a long night of learning. I was tired and feeling a bit humorless, and my friend picked a bar that is not exactly my favorite but the drinks are cheap. I walk into the bar and a man looks at me like he both a) is extraordinarily drunk and b) knows me.

THE EXCHANGE:

Him: “Do I know you?” Every word slurred into the next.

Me: “No”

Him: “Oh, because you look exactly like my baby momma.”

Me: “Oh, I have no children.”

Him: “I don't either, yet.”

Me: “I'm out.”

DID IT WORK: Well, since this was a non beautiful man basically telling me he wants to take me behind the middle school and get me pregnant, I'd say the answer is no.

EPILOGUE: I collected my friend from the other side of the room and he accompanied me back to the bar, where I bought a beer. Turns out that when my friend, a very handsome black man, had first come to the bar to buy a round for himself and someone else he was meeting, this guy regaled him with a bunch of his opinions that it's a grave injustice when black men fuck white women.

I'm a sunburn-prone blonde.

Shaming a bigot made that beer all the more delicious.

i suppose that's one good word, yes.

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contrat de mariage

This isn't a pickup line so much as a pickup story.

I very briefly lived in France as an undergrad. I wasn't, strictly speaking, studying abroad because I was not affiliated with any French institution and I was not taking classes, but I was living in Paris and conducting some independent research that was funded by my home university. I lived in a neighborhood populated primarily with North Africans, and I am a tall, voluptuous blond (my measurements aren't for public consumption, but my dress size would be an 8-10 if it weren't for my shoulders and breasts). French women do not, generally speaking, look like me. I stood out in that crowd.

CONTEXT: I am walking home to my apartment after buying vegetables. It is sunday afternoon. I haven't showered, I'm more than a little hungover, and I feel like I smell. I am wearing a navy blue dress with a cache-coeur neckline (my favorite). A man sees me in the crowd and aggresses his way over to me.

THIS DUDE: easily twice my age and then some, easily four inches shorter than me and then some, easily 50 pounds heavier than me (I'm not a lightweight) and then some. He is wearing a linen suit. He is not beautiful.

THE EXCHANGE*:

Him: “Miss, you are so beautiful, would you happen to be in need of a husband? I have the papers right here!” and he pulls out a large document labelled, somewhat comically, “MARRIAGE CONTRACT.”

Me: “No thanks, but good luck with that.”

Him: “Well, if not a husband, how about a fuck?”

DID IT WORK: I am not now, nor have I ever been, married.

*En français, pour ceux qui en ont envie:

Lui: “Mademoiselle, vous etes si belle, est-ce que vous avez besoin d'un mari? Voici mon contrat de mariage!”

Margot: “Non merci, bonne chance.”

Lui: “Si vouz ne voulez pas m'épouser, puis-je vous baiser?”

buddy holly

Not too long ago, my off-again-on-again running partner told me that I need to start writing down the awesome pickup lines that I've been on the business end of. I feel like this might be the perfect forum, especially for when I want to tell a good story but don't have the time to write something quality.

THE LINE: "You are visually delicious!"

Setting: a basement club, not wholly unlike this basement, except maybe 10% the size of the one that inspired that story.

Context: dancing with a young man who keeps grabbing my ass and staring at my tits. I'm two months out of a serious relationship.

Did it work: you betcha. That young man's name is an integral word in a popular song, and every time I hear it I laugh at the same time as I get wet. That's a story for another time.