exitstrategy

Happy St Pats spinsta fans.  Have you missed me?  I was on vacation from being the spinsta.  But, I am back.  And what better time than during one of the happiest days of the year. Like most Americans (or I guess humans in general, although not sure how big St Pats is in the mideast or far east), I went to a bar for St Pats.  My friend and I didn’t go to a pub since the walk was too long and we were hungry, so we went to a martini bar.  After two glasses of wine, the spinsta was in rare form (read: hammered).  Fast forward to 30 minutes later after paying our check and going to White Hen for dessert.  Since I am on my diet still, we shared our dessert - a bag of reeses pieces (I mean is there anything better).  We treated ourselves to a giant handful and stood on the street corner like urchins.  Isn’t that how most people celebrate the holiday? Apparently the answer is yes.  Well, maybe they don’t spend the holiday on the street corner but they pick up their supplies at White Hen.  Enter the BF: a partner at my old firm who I used to flirt with and, who according to one of the secretaries who had worked at the firm forever, was a real “poon hound.”  Being the polite spinsta, I said hello.  Taken aback by being greeted by a homeless woman eating candy, it took him a second to register who I was.  ”Hi Spinsta.”  ”Want some reese’s pieces?”  I mean what else does one offer to her former boss when he finds her eating reeses on the corner?  ”Ha.  No thanks but it looks like you are really enjoying them.”  Exit BF. Wait what does that mean?  Is he commenting on my giant rump?  That cab/angel/soothsayer wanted to eat the spinsta’s gummy candies.  Who did this guy think he was?  What is good enough for the divine is surely good enough for The Man.  I have a feeling that my St Pats was similar to the original St Pats - all good holidays start off with some humiliation and end up with some martyrdom (you know, St. Spinsta).  

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