We shall be called Goose and Maverick

So, I really don't get guys. Really really don't. Last night, C and I went to a new (relatively) bar in town because she had never been. I swear I think we had a sign flashing over our heads that said "Hello, if you are married, or old enough to be our fathers, PLEASE come talk to us."

Dear married/un-single men at the bar,

If you are married, you need to NOT try to pick up girls at a bar, nor, do you need to send your old, old, old co-worker over to a girl and ask her if she would like it if you came and talked to her. Her reply will be: "I don't care, but I am VERY sure that his wife would NOT appreciate it." (I mean these men were not even trying to hide the fact that they were married. But me, being the person that I am, reminded them if they were trying to in any way flirt.) Yes, I know I am from the South and you are not. Yes, I know I am wearing a skirt, heels and pearls, which you may not see everyday. Yes, I am aware that I have a nice smile (my parents paid enough for braces that this is kind of a given) and I have heard it before. You do not impress me one bit. Yes, I know I look bored, you don't have to tell me. I look that way because I AM, and I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU. Now, would you kindly walk away from my table because you are getting on my nerves. Thank you! (Said in my sweetest, most Southern voice, sarcastically).

Hope this serves you well in the future,
Me