Wingmen (don’t) (well, sometimes) prefer blondes

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. First, there was the producer. We were having a great conversation when Wingy interrupted and started talking about my exes for some reason. Then he proceeded to pick up said producer right in front of my eyes. Then there was the dancer I had a little crush on, and whom he began flirting with heavily the moment he met her. There are probably others I’m forgetting.*

So really, I have no one to blame but myself. I should have known better. He’s just doing what comes naturally. And I gave him the perfect opening.

It all started a couple of weekends ago when I met a girl in the self-help section of Chapters. (Yes, I’m that shameless.) An Aussie we’ll call Kylie. Got her #, talked on the phone, arranged to get together to see an Australian folk trio. Because Wingy and I had extra tix to the show, I suggested she invite a friend, since Wingy was also going to come. My first mistake.

So we meet for drinks at a little faux Irish pub before the show. I have to admit I’d kind of forgotten what she looked like, and I realized on second look that she wasn’t exactly my type. Blonde, petite, something a little Tori Spelling-ish about her face. Although I like to say I don’t really have a type. No matter; whatever type she is, is not the point. Anyway, Wingy arrived shortly after I’d moved the conversation into the realm of a Lavalife story I’d been working on, about the way men and women categorize each other. Wingy immediately took the opportunity to begin enumerating all the things that were deal-breakers for him when it comes to women: she can’t have kids; she has to like beer (according to him, women who like beer are “more laidback”); yakkity yakkity, a whole lot of hot air. Then he dropped the little bomb I believe turned everything around. “And I don’t like blondes,” he sniffed.

I’m not going to go into many more painful details about the rest of the night. Suffice it to say things went from okay to worse, culminating later in the evening with the four of us, including Kylie’s friend Olivia, at my favourite late-night eatery, where we sat at the bar: Kylie and I straight-backed and bored of each other’s company, Wingy and Olivia yucking it up beside us. Kylie ducked out early, saying she had to get up for work the next day, and I thought that would be the last I heard of her. In a manner of speaking, it was. Cut to: two nights later. Wingy and I are out somewhere, his cell goes off, he looks at the screen, and waves the thing in my face. It’s from Kylie: she’s messaged him through Facebook, suggesting that the two of them go out for a drink sometime. Wah-wah.

To wrap this rather unflattering episode up, the two of them did end up going out one night last week. And sure enough, at one point Kylie said, “I thought you didn’t like blondes?”

To which Mr. Smooth replied, “Well, there are always exceptions.”

*Of course, how could I forget… there was the cute gallerina a couple of weeks back! (see previous post “It’s okay, he’s from Winnipeg”) He threw a spanner in the works with that one, too.


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