  I’ ve used aliases ( bad ones)  here for the sake of anonymity.  I got a phone call from a girl tonight ( no,
 that’ s not so unusual)  and she wanted to see if I wanted to go to a bar with them ( a few girls)  that’ s 25 minutes from my house.
 Granted,  that doesn’ t sound so bad,  except for a few little factors:  The bar is filled with people I don’ t know,
 generally younger than I am,  and they all look like they just decided to start their frat/ sorority here I like the bars that are actually 3- 4 minutes from my house My buddy wanted to play pool,  and again,  that was a lot closer The girls tend to flirt with guys a plenty,
 and I wind up twiddling my thumbs I’ m not taking them home I told Sasha I was tired ( I was)  and that I was going to play pool with a buddy.  All of a sudden,  her friend Isabel gets on the phone,
 and asks me to come out.  Again,  I repeat my story,  and she says to me,  “ Sasha told me to tell you that she’
s going to wear a really short skirt tonight,  and that you should come out.  Well,  that’ s dandy,  except that I’
ve definitely become the “ nice guy”  of their little group,  and that’ s not self- proclaimed,
 because I’ ve been introduced that way.  For those of you who don’ t know,  a “ nice guy”
 introduction is like a death sentence before a trial.  I’ m like a practical car for someone in their mid- life crisis,  or a eunuch in the Bachelorette ;  I’
m there,  but serve no purpose.  It’ s neither good nor bad,  it’ s purgatory.
 It’ s a question without an answer.  It is,  apparently,  me.  This is all no big deal,
 because it’ s important to have female friends to get objective perspectives,  get a little womanly comfort,  and to remind you that you’ re not a leper.  I realized this awhile back,
 and they’ re nice girls,  so I don’ t protest.  The funny thing was,  they thought a short skirt would make me more likely to come out,
 but it is useless bait.  Even if I happened to be attracted to Sasha,  going out because she had on a short skirt,  realizing my identity to her,  would be like banging my head into a brick wall to remember not to bang my head into the brick wall,  and I need that like I need a hole in the head.
 However,  it is interesting that they thought it would sway me.  And maybe it shows that they don’ t exactly hold the highest opinion of me yet,  which is precisely the reason I went out to play pool,  and why I’
m not sitting here feeling bad for a hot second.
