MW and I are both dressed kind of rock glam-over the top this particular day. I'm wearing a very short black skirt, shirt with a fur collar, and high heeled boots. MW is wearing a black, faux snake skin mini-skirt, white embellished tank top, high heeled boots. There is a big healthcare conference in the city, and the bar is full of men in business suits. MW and I, perhaps stand out in this crowd.
After a couple cocktails, I personally decide it is time to leave. As I'm saying my goodbyes, the fellow sitting next to me, who had tried to get my attention earlier, starts talking. We chit chat, MW comes over, and I acquiesce and agree to stay a tiny bit longer. The fellow, Tomas, offers to buy me a drink. Now, I have a good feel for people, and I don't like Tomas; and I politely decline, and state that I have to take public transportation home, which is horrible when tipsy. Tomas suggests that he will have a limo take me home, and looks at MW and says "you have a limo service programmed in your phone, right?" At this point all I can think is "holy hell, he thinks we're hookers!!!"
Now, MW doesn't not pick up on this detail. Tomas wants to take us to dinner, and her response is "somewhere fancy, we only eat in nice restaurants."
***MW is an itty, bitty thing, has had several cocktails and quite frankly we're only eating soup for lunch these days.***
Then he wants to buy us drinks and MW announces that we "only drink top shelf". I'm becoming more and more uptight, and less and less agreeable. MW is becoming visibly frustrated because I won't accept a drink and refuse to consider going to dinner with these fellows.
The highlight of this exchange is surely when MW was attempting to explain our jobs. "People pay us thousands of dollars for help with their love lives, you know. Well, not us, but "the people we work for". Yep, she just told him we have a pimp...
Finally, he excuses himself and I proclaim "he thinks we're hookers!!!". While MW is skeptical, I promise her it will make sense later, beg her to trust me on this one, and so we leave.
The solace and comfort I have is at least I was mistaken for a prostitute at the Clock Bar. Not like AP, who was mistaken for a working girl at Jack in the Box recently. Maybe it is time to rethink the work outfits???
