Can I Get Your Number Baby

Hit me with the seven digits. – No Authority

Going downtown is an eye candy daydream–it’s full of (quite attractive) fairly douchey bros and men in suits. Not the case in my area of the lower mainland, so I -extra- appreciate the long walk between bus stops when I’m in the swanky business area of the waterfront. And I’d just love the idea of a good, fantasy meetcute with some rich man in a suit, preferably with an accent, who asks for my number. Now of course that’s never happened.

But it sort of happened, today. Twice. Uncomfortably Handsome Colleague asked for my number to get a beer after work obligations (he didn’t follow through), and a random man ran across the street then doubled back to tell me I’m beautiful and ask for my number (after ascertaining whether or not I worked at the doughnut shop I was standing in front of).

What a strange night. I haven’t been approached by anyone since, IDK, a long fucking time.But now I can’t stop singing. I’ve been east, I’ve been west…

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