Here's the scene: I'm sipping a cosmopolitan at my fave haunt, "Smokin' Joe's Firepole" (which I'm told, used to be a hangout for firemen but was taken over by the gay community due to the cheeky name). It's a Thursday, and I'm cruisin' for dudes. Along with me is my BFF Miranda, who possesses one of the most acute gay-dars in the world. Mine is a bit out of whack sometimes, so I rely on her to separate the wheat from the chaff for me. Another sip of cranberry-infused ambrosia, and I see him, all the way across the bar...
Hip-hugging skinny jeans? CHECK!
Gemstone-encrusted tanktop that says "Loverboi"? CHECK!
Gravity-defying hairdo held in place with 200ccs of "BedHead Manipulator"? CHECK!!
Pointy, faux-alligator shoes tapping in tune to the Pet Shop Boys? DOUBLE CHECK!!
I sick Miranda on him. She chats him up a bit, and comes back with her verdict.
"You sure he plays for my team?" I ask.
"He's as gay as a rainbow-braided 'My Little Pony'" she replies.
My heart was beating faster than Liberace sews sequins onto his robe. He looked like a strong, strapping sort of lad, so I thought a firm handshake would be the most appropriate of greetings.
"Ouch, don't hurt me" he replied.
I walk away, completely dejected. I verbally chastise Miranda, but she assures me her judgment is spot on and that he plays for team gherkin. Upon closer scrutiny I think I just came on too strong. He just had such big, inviting hands...the type that know how to hug.
Thoughts? Is this salvageable?