I’m just going to say it: Valentine’s Day is dumb. Do we really need a special day to appreciate our significant others (and rub it in the faces of those who don’t)? I feel like the only people who really care about it are people who aren’t in relationships. I know whenever I’ve been in a relationship, I could have cared less about Valentine’s Day. My birthday is less than two weeks later, and I’d rather my manfriend save the fanfare for the big show. So like most Valentine’s Days, I spent last Valentine’s Day working at my friends Michele and Irene’s restaurant. I almost always volunteer to work that night. That way, there’s no need to worry about making plans (or feeling bad about not having plans, as the case may be).

It was a busy night at the restaurant. Fast and Furious. Though despite it being a super busy night, we managed to get done and clean up fairly early. Once the place was empty, the ladies offered us the usual post-shift drink. We accepted and all had a couple of drinks at the restaurant. And then Irene suggested we take this party to Ten Stone, another bar around the corner. Please understand, this was a special occasion. Michele and Irene wanting to go out after a shift was a rarity. A rare, special treat. Because those ladies know how to get down.

The pack of us, six in total, walked to the bar around the corner. When we got to there, we made our way through the crowds huddled around the bar and settled ourselves into a corner in the backroom. Michele asked for everyone’s beer order, and headed to the bar. I followed her since I wasn’t sure how she planned to carry six beers; I figured I’d lend a hand. We got up to the bar and as the bartender came to ask for our order, the guy who had been standing to my right walked away from the bar.

“Oh my God, he was BEAUTIFUL!” yelled Michele in response to the bartender’s question. She was a little drunker than I had realized. In the fun way.

“Really? I didn’t notice.” That wasn’t me trying to be cool; I routinely have my head up my ass and notice nothing.

“Oh my God, he was gorgeous. And I’m gay. And married,” she explained to the bartender. “Raina, you have to have babies with him. Since I can’t, you HAVE TO.” I love drunk Michele.

We brought the drinks back to the group. We laughed; we danced (it’s not that kind of bar but we do what we want); good times all around. Irene spotted the same dude from the bar and commented on how good looking he was. We all had a laugh about how cute it was that two married lesbians have the same taste in men. Handsome Dude walked over to our group to ask if we were using the dart board. Irene was more than happy to let him know that we were not using the dart board and he was welcome to stand near us while he plays darts (she didn’t come out and say that last part, but it was strongly implied).

He and his buddy start playing darts, and he is very close to where we are standing. But I’m not going to let that be an excuse to talk to him. Oh no, no. I don’t talk to cute boys. I just don’t do it. I don’t even look at them, really. It’s like looking directly at the sun. I can’t do it. We might accidentally look at each other at the same time. Direct eye contact? Oh God no. No, thank you.

The night went on and we were genuinely having a blast. We rarely all went out together, so we were all making the most of it. The other girls would jokingly try to encourage me to go talk to Handsome Dude. But there was no way. Because by this point, his group of guys seemed to have a corresponding group of girls in their mix. And I don’t know if the girl talking to him is his girlfriend or someone he met that night. But either way, it doesn’t matter; she got there first and I don’t care that much. I’m never going to be that girl competing for a guy. Nope. It’s not my style. Not to mention, I’ll never give some dude the satisfaction of having two women compete for his attention. On principle.

At one point, I couldn’t help but notice that the girl who may or may not have been Handsome Dude’s girlfriend had started dancing (it’s not that kind of bar) sensually (it’s really not that kind of bar) all up on him. And I also couldn’t help but notice that Handsome Dude didn’t look that into it (read: he looked viciously uncomfortable). Huh. Maybe she’s not his girlfriend after all. That’s very interesting.

Not long after that, I saw that Handsome Dude was waiting for the rest room. The rest room was at the end of a corridor. A corridor that was out of view of the rest of the bar. This was my chance. If I was ever going to try to talk to this dude, it was now or never. So I took a gulp of my IPA, did the sign of the cross, and hoped for the best.

Here goes nothing.