You didn’t ask about the scar, and I liked that. I’ve had guys incorporate it into their pickup lines before. Girls with facial scars attract a certain kind of weird and it’s not that I judge, I’m just not into cage fighter role-play.
Your icebreaker wasn’t great but it wasn’t cliché, and your eyes fell to my cleavage only twice—once to show you noticed, and once more to show you cared. I’ve never met someone who moonlighted as a carny to put themselves through law school before. That story about the Ferris wheel with the faulty breaks and mentally challenged driver was the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. And don’t worry, I know you weren’t making fun of the driver. You just had issues with her being allowed to operate heavy machinery.
Later, you leaned in and touched the rim of my shot glass. You murmured, “sometimes I tell strangers my name is John, that I’m the only professional bluegrass fiddle player in all of North Dakota.”
That’s when I knew this was a moment I’d tell people about, years into the future, when they asked me how I met you.
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith