On Thursday I travelled to a neighboring "city" for a meeting. A group of young professionals were getting together to hear some highers up speak about succession management. This was the first of these "young professional" events I had attended so I wasn't sure what to expect. The only thing I did know was I wanted to sit at a table located near the back of the conference room (in case I wanted to make a quick retreat back to my office).
Starting time for the session was 9am, so when I arrived at 8:59am (after a quick pit stop at the ladies room) there were only three seats left. Two were at the back table (good), but there was a problem (not good). Seated at that table was a totally cute guy. I can hear you now..."and this is a problem why?"
For one, Regular Erika is a smart, witty, pretty girl. Put her next to a hot guy and Erika becomes a blumbling, rambling, mess. Messy Erika let's call her. Regular Erika would normally take a seat at another table, thus avoiding the cute guy and any possibility of making a love connection. Obviously this is one of the reasons (on a long list) why I don't meet many single guys. I'm too busy avoiding them.
But something was different on Thursday. I was feeling different. Could have been the "I'm feeling lucky" thong I had on. Could have been the Shreddies I ate for breakfast. I decided to go for it.
I sat down. Made chit chat with everyone at the table (including him), shook hands (including his). He was tall, broad shoulders, oh so rugged looking, had really really great brown hair and a mischievious twinkle in his eye. Even better, no wedding ring. So, I did that whole flirty lowered eyes, look up and smile combo that Glamour is always going on about as a tried and true method of "come hither big boy". I could picture this guy building something with his bare hands (ok, and a hammer).
The session starts.
And then out of freaking nowhere...
Another cute guy sits down at our table. Initial reaction - panic! Ok, ok...breathe. Breathe. You are ok. You are smart, witty and pretty. You can rhyme. Two cute guys are no problem.
Guy #2 was cute in a totally different way. He was tall and lanky, with blonde curly hair and a mischievious twinkle in his eye. There was a ring there, it might be a wedding ring, it might not. So, I did that whole flirty lowered eyes, look up and smile combo that Glamour is always going on about as a tried and true method of "come hither big boy". I could picture this guy kayaking down a raging river with his bare hands (ok, and a paddle).
After all that eye lowering and looking and smiling (while trying to fain interest in mentoring) I really needed to pee. Then again, it could have been the three cups of coffee I drank to calm my nervousness. Still distracted by the eye candy at my table, I ducked out of the conference room to go to the ladies room.
I think I actually broke into a mad dash (I have a petitie bladder ok). I barreled into the washroom. And thought to myself, hmmm, I don't remember the ladies room having a blue color scheme...or urinals. What the ****? Urinals! I was in the men's washroom.
Initial reaction - panic! Ok, ok...breathe. Breathe. You are ok. You are smart, witty and pretty. You can rhyme. Being in the men's washroom is no problem.
Calmly, I spun on my black stiletto heels and leapt out the door. Luckily no one was looking.
When I returned to my table I picked right up where I left off.
Regular Erika - you go girl!
[Bloggers Note: None of the flirty lowered eyes, look up and smile combo that Glamour is always going on about as a tried and true method of "come hither big boy" actually resulted in a date request. I plan on not renewing my subscription of Glamour, you know, after this year].