The bars can be very dangerous places for single women.
With no significant other to wrap his arm around you and stake his claim, not unlike a dog peeing on a lamppost, other bar-goers easily identify the stag girls and attack.
Now, as I have said before, I am not exactly looking for a boyfriend right now (editor's note: Jane is not allowed to have a boyfriend for five more weeks). Nor am I so desperate to audition for the next VH1 reality series where we fight for the love of yet another celebrity who is either super old (Bret Michaels), super gross (Flavor Flav) or super the wrong sex for me (Tila Tequila).
I will admit that if my Prince Charming rode up on a white unicorn, threw flower petals at my feet and declared his undying love I would either a) faint or b) jump on the back of the horse with him as quickly as possible. Because this is real life, and not a romantic fantasy book, I know this is about as likely to happen as Pluto again becoming a planet.
Poor Pluto.
Poor me.
On weekends, I head uptown seeking a fun night with my couple friends. Luckily for me, I need only stand there 20 minutes before the only weirdo in the entire bar approaches me. Seriously, I am fairly certain I have a sign on my forehead that says, Approach me
visible only to the weirdest of the weirds.
Before you retort with, But Jane you are pretty weird yourself let me explain. I recognize my weirdness. I am shameless. I eat more than my weight in chocolate on most days. I think black nail polish is cool. The boys who approach me in bars are not weird like I am; they are super weird, super-duper-ooper weird. They are the type that, if their weirdness was measured on a scale of weird, they would break the scale. They would send the scale flying off into space right past poor old Pluto.
These weird ones think it is perfectly acceptable to approach a girl from behind on the dance floor and suction cup themselves to her body. It has happened to me before, and I am sure it has happened to others too. Bar night can often turn into this guy should be put behind bars night.
In this situation, there is only one acceptable recourse: the safe butt maneuver. The girl in question must simultaneously remove the weirdo's hands while shaking her body 90 degrees so that her back is turned into a circle created by her friends, thereby making her backside safe from weirdo predators.
These weird ones also think it is acceptable to use pick-up lines that were only created as jokes, such as: You have nice child-bearing hips
or, Our auras would go nicely together
or Do you eat lots of Lucky Charms
because you look magically delicious. I understand it takes a lot of courage to approach a woman in a public place, even a woman as clumsy and loud as I am. But the second they wrap around my body or spit out a horrible pick-up line, my pity flies right out the door of The Union before the bouncer can stop it.
When a girl is attacked by a crazy pick-up line, she must resort to evasion maneuvers. I like to smile politely and weave away through the crowd to a location as far away from the guy as possible. It is not exactly the most effective plan in small bars like Cat's Eye, but it does send a message of sorts.
I just hope that message isn't, I have to pee
I'll be right back.
Jane Adams is a junior studying journalism and columnist for The Post. Send her the worst pick-up lines you have ever heard at ja250406@ohiou.edu.
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Opinion
Jane Adams
