How NOT... To ask for a girls number.
A year ago I learnt how not to ask for a girls number. This is the story.
So one night, my phone ran out of battery and I lost my friends. Instead of going home, the vibes in the club were strong so I decided to ride the wave solo. In my drunken disarray, I managed to get friendly with a nice group of Irish women. Few tequila shots later, myself and the luckiest of the three had our faces shabbily glued together like a 6 year olds latest piece of artwork. So, we got in the Uber back to her place. One of the girls stopped off on the way to meet her boyfriend, the others head hung out of the window. We had finally arrived after what seemed like a decade - struggled to get the paralytic friend out of the car - said goodbye to Omar (Uber driver) - and the fun continued. I entered the house. It was clean, contemporary and drowned in minimalist cool. Looked like a place Jonathan Ive may have once lived in. She put her friend to bed, while I raided their drinks cabinet. Dimmed the lights a little, hopped onto Spotify and put something smooth on. For a second, I felt like Pharrell in the Frontin’ video.
But while I waited for her to arrive, somebody else entered the room. The fourth housemate. She was incredible. Petite, with a sweet smile and she wore these beautiful emeralds for eyes. I was very intrigued. I introduced myself, and in my psuedo-Pharrell state offered her a drink (like it was my house..!) she obliged and we talked. We then began to laugh. We both found cow-tipping hilarious, were both the youngest children, and both liked OutKast and anime. We drank, but the feeling of meeting somebody I could vibe with had wiped any drunkenness away. The girl I met at the club came down and joined us. We all spoke for a bit, then the housemate went to sleep. We too retired shortly after.
Fast forward to the morning, I got up and went downstairs. Outside I saw the housemate doing yoga. I’m not sure if it was the sun in my eyes, or the sight of her glowing body causing me to squint. I felt myself walking towards the garden door but I was not in control. She had caught me in an extraterrestrial tractor beam.
‘’Hi’’ I said. ‘’Shit, that was lame.’’ I thought.
We spoke at length, again. And I was still pretty caught up. Whilst we spoke, the girl I met at the club had started making breakfast. The breakfast was tasty as fuck, too. Two fried eggs, three sausages, two rashers of bacon and some overpriced, bouji, Whole Foods brown bread. A breakfast of champions. After I finished eating, I booked an Uber and made my way home.
The whole journey my mind was occupied with thoughts about that girl. Her energy, her wit, her sense of humour. I needed to see her again. The issue was though… How? I only had the number of the girl I met at the club… I debated for a while, tried to find her on Facebook to bypass what seemed to be the only option. But, I went rogue. Bit the bullet and did it. I texted her and asked for the housemates number. Stupid, I know. Radio silence for three days. Then I got a text from her. There was no hello, just the number. It was cold. At that point I should've clocked on and left it at that. But I went and texted her anyway, thinking she'd understand why I did it. The response was instant.
''Hi Damola.'' It read.
''After you left me and the girls were discussing what a lovely guy you were... How wrong were we. To think that I'd betray my friend like that is a joke. You've let yourself down. I won't be going for a drink with you any time soon. Goodbye.''
The more I thought about though, it was the inevitable result. She wasn't going to disrespect her friend like that, and I rate the fact that she didn't. Even if it was clear we had a natural synergy that myself and her mate would never ever have.
My heart was in the right place, however. I had met somebody emitting the right energies. Maybe it was blind lust? Maybe it wasn't. The execution was bin bag anyway. But as Jay-Z says, red or green pill you live and you learn.