Hmmm…the worst pick-up line I ever fell for? Let me think about that. I have some awfully good ones in the running:
– The bad news is you’re fired. The good news is we can start dating now and not worry about sexual harassment muddying the waters.
– You bear an eerie resemblance to my dead girlfriend. If you don’t believe me, her wake is tomorrow night.
– I just put money in your meter, but we can call it even if you take me home and screw my brains out.
– Do you have kids? Because I do and they need a mommy. Or they will just as soon as I get custody back from my psycho-bitch ex-wife.
Dating…ah, good times! Oh, wait, fell for? Scratch those. The absolute worst pick-up line I ever fell for wasn’t in the league of an invitation to a wake or a creepy boss—I mean, I fell for it, right?—but not surprisingly it wasn’t anything the guy would later admit he actually said. Since he was the one who had five empty martini glasses in front of him at the time while I was on my first beer, I think enough said about that. I’d like to claim something exotic like we were on his yacht—in which case, I might have even fallen for the dead girlfriend line—but we were actually in a plain old bar. A student bar in Ann Arbor, the cool interior a welcome change from an unseasonably hot Michigan Autumn. It was only four in the afternoon so the place was pretty empty and I was breaking my five o’clock rule. Classic good girl, though, I actually was 21, unlike most students in bars. I took a seat, ordered my beer, and tried to ignore the guy pounding it down a couple of stools away. He wasn’t my usual intellectual-looking type (read nerdy) and at first glance I thought he might be somebody’s dad. But then I took a second glance out of the corner of my eye and noticed that if he was somebody’s dad, then he was the hottest dad on the block, in the city even. And he wasn’t as old as I had first thought. It was the suit coat and loosened tie that threw me off. He was older, certainly older than any guy I’d dated, but he probably hadn’t hit thirty-five yet. I wasn’t being as discreet as I thought either because he caught me checking him out. Okay, remember here that I was a student and, no, not the sexy Pleasuring her Professor kind of student. My sweat shirt could have hidden a multitude of sins and I had yet to make an acquaintance with high heels. I didn’t even have lipstick on. So his blatant stare back was a bit of a surprise. But I took into account the empty martini glasses and the darkness of the bar. He slid over. And then he said it. The worst pick-up line I ever fell for…well, hold on, before I get to that, let me emphasize that one stool over from me this guy was even cuter than I’d thought farther down the bar. Wavy black hair, blue eyes, long lashes. The whole bit. His five o’clock shadow (pre-five o’clock) didn’t make me think scratchy; it made me think of running my thumb along his lean cheek and into his mouth so he could nip it. Whoa.
When he leaned forward to deliver the line, I realized what was meant by that term a pang of desire. And then he said it: “Has anybody ever really rocked you in bed?”
I didn’t say I fell for the line right away. Did I mention how adorable he was? And also by that point in my life, no one ever really had. Rocked me in bed. I was turned on enough not to dump my beer in his lap as I would have if he’d been a drunk frat boy giving me that line at a kegger. Instead, I cut him some slack when he put his arm around the back of my stool and whispered in my ear, “I’ve had a few but not too many to notice you right next to me. Women didn’t look like you when I was in college.”
He was full of bad lines that night. But by the end of it, I was back in his hotel room and, well, he was proving his claim that he could rock me in bed. Eventually we evolved into a May-September romance that turned out not to be the real thing, but oh my goodness the ride while we figured that out.
Hey, you can’t be a good girl forever.