Confessions of an Ugly Girl (13 page)

“Gotta respect a girl who can order a Guinness,” commented a guy sitting one stool away from me. He was chubby and wearing a little hat that I swear looked like a beret. He definitely had a gay vibe, which made sense if he was talking to me. Only
gay
men initiate contact with me.

“It’s a good beer,” I replied.

“See, here’s the problem,” the guy said. “When a girl orders a man’s drink, it’s cool. But a guy can’t order a girl’s drink.”

“What do you want to order?” I asked him.

“A fuzzy navel,” he said. I laughed. Yes, 100% gay. “Don’t laugh. It’s a delicious drink. But if I order it, at best, I’ll feel emasculated. At worst, I might get my ass kicked.”

“Life’s hard.”

“It sure is. I’m Roger, by the way.”

“I’m Millie.”

“Nice to meet you, Millie,” Roger said. He got up and sat down in the stool next to mine. “I don’t suppose you could be persuaded to order a fuzzy navel for me? I’d compensate you by paying for your Guinness.”

“I guess so,” I said. I tried to get the attention of the bartender, who was very absorbed by some 20-year-old hottie. Before I could order the drink, I felt a hand on my arm. I turned and was startled to see Sam.

“Millie,” he said. “Come back to the table.”

“Oh.” I blushed. “I was trying to let you guys...”

“I know,” he said. “Come back. It’s okay.”

I gave my new gay friend Roger an apologetic look. “Sorry,” I said. “You’ll have to order your own fuzzy navel.”

“At least you tried,” Roger said with a shrug. He grinned at me. “Let me still pay for your drink.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said quickly. “We’ll have the bartender put it on our tab. Come on, Millie.”

Sam placed one hand on the small of my back and didn’t remove it until I hopped out of my barstool. He actually looked kind of tense until we were back at the table. Eric had stopped crying and had a mildly amused expression on his face.

“Do you believe that?” Sam said to his brother. He put his arm around me possessively. “Two minutes she’s at the bar and some douche in a beret is already trying to pick her up.”

“He wasn’t trying to pick me up,” I protested. “Actually, I’m pretty sure he was gay.”

“Uh huh.” Sam rolled his eyes. It was flattering he didn’t believe me, but I knew he was wrong.

“He wasn’t hitting on me,” I insisted. “I mean, he still wanted to buy me the drink even after you came over.”

Sam laughed and shook his head at me. “Yeah, that’s because he couldn’t believe you were actually dating the guy in the wheelchair. Come on, Millie. Stop being ridiculous.”

Eric, of course, totally backed up his brother’s opinion. Oh well. The good thing was that my little embarrassing ordeal seemed to have perked Eric up a bit. He was still clearly drunk, but a little more optimistic. Well, until about twenty minutes later, when he started barfing. I drove everyone to Sam’s apartment and helped get Eric onto the couch in a prone, vomit-friendly position.

Sam told me I ought to go back to my place because his brother was likely going to be hungover big-time the next morning. I kind of hope that tomorrow Eric doesn’t remember most of the night, because geez, what a way to meet your brother’s girlfriend.

December 6:

I know I’m going to sound crazy saying this, but I’m beginning to think that Sam’s cleaning girl has a crush on him.

Her name is Lucy and she comes to clean every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, plus alternate Saturday mornings. She makes the bed, does laundry, dusts stuff, cleans the floors, and even makes him some meals that he can microwave later. She also does his grocery shopping. She’s a nursing student in college, but I’m fairly sure she doesn’t do anything nursing-related for him. At least, nothing he’ll admit to.

Lucy is maybe 20. She has blond hair and is very cute. Moreover, she is always prancing around in these tight little jeans. She looks great in them. Even I’m a little turned on, so I’m thinking Sam must really appreciate this.

I see her sometimes when I’m over at Sam’s apartment on Saturday mornings. She’s nice, I guess. It just seems like the two of them flirt an awful lot, although I suppose they’re both very flirtatious people. Still. For example, a week ago, she told him that she was interested in buying a new laptop computer and asked if he could give her any advice. When she said that, his eyes completely lit up.

“Oh man, you’re going to be sorry you asked me.” He got on his own computer and started bringing up models for her to look at. They ended up spending at least an hour looking at computers, with him explaining the specs for each one. That just seemed a little beyond the call of duty for a cleaning girl.

Yesterday Lucy was there at night instead of during the day because she had some exam scheduled in the morning. I came in with Sam and she was just finishing up cleaning his bedroom. “I’m almost done,” she said.

“Bang up job,” he told her. “Got any plans for tonight, Lucy?”

“There’s a big party on campus,” she said. “And I’m running late. Actually, I was wondering if you’d mind if I changed clothes in your bathroom so I don’t have to go back to my dorm?”

Sam approved Lucy changing in the bathroom. We were trying to decide what to order for dinner when she came out wearing the skimpiest, sexiest outfit I’ve ever seen. She was all black leather and bare skin. I was totally shocked. I felt like a 60-year-old prude by comparison. I looked over at Sam and his jaw was on the floor.

She did a little spin. “How do I look?”

“Christ,” Sam said. “Lucy, do your parents know you dress like that? I’m going to have to give them a call.”

Lucy giggled and touched his shoulder. “Do you want to come to the party? I’m sure it would be cool with my friends.”

Sam shook his head. “No, by the looks of you, I’m way, way too old for this party. I might have a heart attack if I went. But have fun. Remember: liquor before beer, you’re in the clear.”

He was still shaking his head after she had left. He looked over at me, “Hey, Millie, think you could get a copy of that dress for yourself?”

I made a face. “You think she’s pretty?”

He shrugged.

“She has a crush on you, you know.”

Sam laughed. “Millie, are you serious? She’s 20. I feel like an old man just looking at her.”

I was little embarrassed that I was making accusations, but I wasn’t about to let this go so easily. I didn’t like the idea of a pretty maid flouncing around my boyfriend in skimpy little outfits. “She was flirting.”

“It’s adorable that you’re jealous,” Sam said. “But trust me, she doesn’t have a crush on me. She thinks of me like an uncool older brother. Or worse, a dad.” I gave him a skeptical look. “Seriously, she’s always telling me about men she dates, asking my advice. Right now, she likes some guy named Quentin who has a blue goatee. How could I make something like that up?”

He spent a good 15 minutes trying to convince me, although he seemed amused that I was jealous. He even said, “I’m flattered you think a hot 20-year-old would want me so badly.”

He seemed kind of baffled, but, you know, he’s very charming. Maybe Lucy doesn’t want to marry him or anything, but she definitely thinks he’s cute. How could she not?

To be honest, this jealousy thing is kind of new to me. I’ve never been in a relationship long enough to seriously worry about other women. I don’t really like feeling jealous. I need to make an effort to stop. So what if Lucy has a crush on Sam? He doesn’t seem interested in her, so that’s good enough for me.

There. No more jealousy.

December 7:

I have to admit something: I love having a boyfriend.

Not that I’ve never had a boyfriend before. I have. Sort of. I’ve dated guys for periods of a few months each. My longest relationship ever was about seven months. It’s sort of embarrassing to admit that I’m 33 years old and I’ve never dated anyone longer than seven months. I don’t think it says anything good about me.

The guy I dated for seven months was named Mark; he was a banker about eight years older than me. He wasn’t awful looking, but I wasn’t particularly attracted to him either. Especially not compared with Sam. He was also sort of a dick to me through the entire relationship. I could never get him to call me when I wanted him to. If I asked him to call me, it was like he’d make a point to wait a week to call. He was mega commitment-phobic—when I introduced him to Donna as my boyfriend, he completely freaked out and insisted that he wasn’t. Honestly, I’m not sure how it lasted seven months between us.

As I was saying, it’s great having a boyfriend. A real boyfriend, who isn’t embarrassed to say I’m his girlfriend. I have someone to go to dinner with, to see movies with, to go to sleep with at night. I never realized how lonely I was until I found Sam.

December 9:

My mother called me last night. She hasn’t called me since Thanksgiving, which is some kind of record for her. She generally calls me nightly or at least every other night. It’s really strange for her to not call for two weeks. I guess she was pretty upset about me dating Sam.

“How are you doing, Millie?” she asked me in a stiff voice.

“Fine.”

“Are you still seeing…?” Apparently, she didn’t want to dignify Sam’s existence by saying his name.

“Yes,” I replied irritably.

“I see,” she murmured. I braced myself, waiting for another lecture. But then my mother burst out with, “Did I tell you that Rachel felt the baby kick?”

And then my mother launched into her favorite topic of all, even better than giving me diet tips: my sister Rachel.

Half of why I don’t like Rachel is that my mother favors her so blatantly. Do you think I loved hearing about my little sister’s engagement when I couldn’t find a boyfriend to save my life? Do you think I loved listening to my mother agonize over what hors d’oeuvres to serve at Rachel’s extravagant wedding? Do you think I wanted to hear all about the beautiful house that Rachel bought, paid for by her rich surgeon husband?

Here’s a hint: I didn’t.

And now it’s obvious I have to hear all about her pregnancy. Every time Rachel picks out a new maternity top, I’m going to have to hear about it. It’s going to be painful. I’ve been dreading Rachel’s pregnancy forever, thinking I was going to feel like such a huge loser when my little sister was having a kid and I didn’t even have a boyfriend. But now that I have Sam, it’s not quite as bad.

I let my mother talk about the pregnancy for a good twenty minutes before telling her that I had to go. Twenty minutes was just about all I could take.

“Where do you have to go?” my mother asked. She’s never been able to get let go of the compulsion to know exactly what I’m doing all the time.

“I have to buy groceries before it gets too late,” I lied.    

“Don’t buy too much, Millie,” my mother admonished me. “When I saw you at Thanksgiving, you looked like you had put on quite a bit of weight. That boy might not care, but other men would.”

I felt my cheeks get hot. The worst thing was that I knew my mother was right. Since Sam and I have been dating, I’ve definitely put on some weight. I’ve been afraid to even get on the scale recently, but I know I’m bigger because the only clothes I can fit into are my “fat clothes.” Sam doesn’t seem to care or even notice.

“I’m on a diet,” I told my mother. Even though I’m not. It’s sort of hard to force yourself to lose weight when the guy you’re dating keeps telling you that you’re perfect the way you are.

December 14:

Sam and I just got back from a weekend in Las Vegas. And you know what they say about Vegas.

We were talking one night and he was completely shocked that I had lived in California my whole life and never gone to Vegas. I didn’t think it was all that shocking, considering I have zero interest in gambling. Actually, it got me wondering how many times Sam had been to Vegas and exactly what he’d been doing there.

“The casinos are really fun,” Sam said.

“Gambling is stupid,” I said. “It’s
objectively
stupid. If gambling were a good deal for the people who did it, don’t you think the casinos would be bankrupt?”

“I get that,” Sam said. “But I don’t do it to get rich. I do it to have fun. Like buying a lottery ticket.”

I stared at him, aghast. “You buy lottery tickets?”

Sam shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“You know,” I said, “the chances of winning a lottery in which six numbers are drawn from 49 is 1 in 14 million. And in a lottery in which seven numbers are drawn from 49, the odds of winning are 1 in 86 million. Your odds of getting struck by lightning are orders of magnitude better than that.”

(As you may recall, the odds of getting struck by lightning are 1 in 6000. Getting struck by lightning is a common occurrence compared with winning the lottery.)  

“I get that,” Sam said again. “But it’s fun. I’m paying for the fun.”