the oldest profession

i don't like to write about things that happen on nights out, because typically they are incriminating and the humor of the situation gets lost in translation on people who weren't actually there to witness the situation.

however, this might be worth sharing.

last night a group of us went out and went dancing. after 5 hours of fun, i left with one of our friends, and we walked to his house. none of us had our car with us, because we tooks cabs, so it seemed like a fine idea to walk 10 blocks in heels with a cracked toe nail. (of course my toe got stepped on while dancing and i was walking home with a throbbing bloody toe) in true form i complained the entire time!

this boy and i had recently started flirting with each other. i'd say for probably about a week or so. and i'll use the term flirting loosely, because it isn't going anywhere, but it's fun to hang out. i threw out my proposition of dating someone you're friends with and he was like yeah i could do that. so we laid down ground rules and here we are.

we got to his house and watched a movie and kissed some, but finally around 4 something between kissing and falling asleep i decide that it would probably be a better idea if i went home to my own bed. so, the boy calls a cab for me and we go outside to meet him. of course i only had an I.D. and shoes to my name, so my friend gave me $40 for cab fare. We asked the cab driver how much it was going to cost and he said $15, so i tried to give the boy $20 of $40 back and he said, "No, no, you just keep that."

so in my head i think, that's a little weird, but $20 is fun. then i think...oh wait...he's totally paying me for services rendered. i just got paid $20 to kiss this boy! who does he think i am?? for the duration of the $15 ride home i proceed to yell about this boy and call him a list of unquotable names to my cabbie. he then asks me, "what's wrong with guys these days?" sir...i am CLEARLY not the girl to ask.

turns out...he was just worried about me because i had nothing but an I.D. and shoes. thank goodness i'm not a prostitute.