Until I did.
On a recent Southwest flight from Phoenix to California, I found myself in a window seat when a definitely hot guy (dark hair, deep brown eyes, handsome face, fit body and the most adorable personality) slipped into the middle seat. This, as luck would have it, was on a day when I was looking not-so-hot.
Damn me and my luck.
I’d been up since 4:30 a.m. Sleep deprived. Bad hair day. Makeup smudgy. Baggy sweater. That’s when you pray you’ll get the socially awkward married guy or little old lady with a bag of knitting.
I got the wedding ring-less hot guy. Of course I did.
I wasn’t feeling attractive but I was definitely feeling attracted. So I subtly applied some lip gloss (my attempt to feel hotter, I don’t know), and the hot guy and I struck up a conversation. I learned his name was Aiden, he’s a pilot for some rich guy in California, and he lives in one of my favorite coastal towns. We talked about our jobs, California, our pasts, this blog and relationships. It got deep, people. Once we started talking, the conversation was lively and flirty and by the end of the flight, we’d exchanged numbers. He told me:
“I’ll check out your blog!”
“Great! I don’t send many men to it, but I’d love to know what you think.”
“Yeah, I’ll let you know!”
And about 30 minutes after baggage claim, Aiden had texted me his (thankfully positive) thoughts indeed.
We exchanged a few texts, I went home, he went home, and that was it: My Hot Guy Flight was officially over. The next morning, I was still thinking about him.
Here’s where I had to make that hand-wringing, head-scratching, what-the-hell-do-I-do decision: Do I reach out to him or do I hope he reaches out to me?
Normally I don’t like to initiate. I want to be chased, not chase–it just feels more right and natural and “the way it should be” if the man makes the first move. But I could not get this guy off my mind and, to be very honest, I was feeling insecure about my lack of hotness on the plane. I knew I cleaned up better than that. And I wanted Aiden to know it too.
So fuck my “let the man initiate” rule, I decided to be proactive. I took a quick selfie after I got ready that morning and–
WAIT. I lied. Not a “quick” selfie. About 150 selfies. Because when you’re going to send a guy a picture, it takes 150 shots to get the right angle/lighting/expression/amount of cleavage (subtle, not slutty). Ladies, amiright? You know I am.
So I took a selfie (zillions), and sent my best side with this message:
“Hey, Aiden! It was nice to meet you. Truth be told, I never get to sit next to the hot guy on the plan-until yesterday. But I was not looking so hot myself (early morning, sleep-deprived, etc). Here’s a better view. Really enjoy chatting, would love to get a drink next time I’m in your neck of the woods.”
And I held my breath. For two hours and 23 minutes. Then he replied:
“Hey! Haha 🙂 I’d love that. But to be upfront, I have a pregnant girlfriend (with my sperm) and I’m not looking for any funny business on the side.”
Ummmmm, what was that? Pregnant girlfriend? Your sperm? Funny business? Side? Shut the fuck up.
I have never wanted to take back a selfie and flirty message so badly in all my life. I shrunk under my desk at work (as if anyone else could know what was happening) and shot back a quick, “OMG, I’m so sorry, I had no idea–your sperm never came up in conversation yesterday.” I deleted the texts, my selfies (all 150 of them) and his number.
Damn me and my luck, part deux.
Lesson learned here? Oh hell, I don’t know. Don’t make the first move? Maybe. Ask about potential girlfriends, babies and sperm before getting too far in a conversation with a hot guy? Possibly. Don’t send flirty messages and a sorta-sexy selfie to a man you only chatted with for 90 minutes? Probably.
Always look hot when you board a plane, regardless of time of day, sleep level, destination or likelihood that your seatmate will be an awkward married guy or a blue hair with knitting skills? Without a doubt.