Creepy Guys and Mexican Food

Thursday nights are belly dance classes and practices. After class, Krysten, Sheila, Mama, and I all decided to go out for drinks at a nearby Mexican restaurant. Nothing odd.

There, Sheila ran into one of her friends karaoke-ing. (Is that even a verb? It is now.) Anyway! There was this teenage boy and this thirty-something-year-old guy, along with a posse of their giggling, thinking-with-the-wrong-head, never-had-a-girlfriend guy friends. I know, this is harsh. Especially considering how I'm always talking about love, and respect. However, I really don't care after what these pigs said to us. Cue (que? queue? No. That's a British line. I have no clue!) conversation:

(four megafoxy ladies sitting around a table, laughing at Sheila's karaoke-buddy-- not being mean! He was just entertaining! Three of the women have some form of alcoholic beverage, I have a Dr. Pepper. One of the women has multiple exposed tattoos, I have an eyeliner butterfly.)

(Cue creepy guys. Now, there was a little brick doorway thing separating the karaoke-sector from the rest of the restaurant. They've been buzzing in and out of this door all night. Never actually saying anything. Just looking at us.)

Mexican Waiter and Creepy Friend: We were just wondering, what nationality are you?

(silence) 

Megafoxy Belly dancers: Uh.. What?

Mexican Waiter and Creepy Friend: What nationality are you?

Megafoxy Belly dancers: We're American..

Mexican Waiter and Creepy Friend: (walk over to me) Well, what nationality are you?

Me: (hides due to her mild agoraphobia. Not really, I just don't like talking to strange people. Especially men. I get really shy around strange men.)

Sheila: We're all American.

Mexican Waiter and Creepy Friend: Oh.. Okay. Well, is your tattoo real?

Me: What? Uh.. No.

Mexican Waiter and Creepy Friend: Is it real?

Me: No.

Mama: It's makeup. It's just eyeliner. It'll wash off.

Mexican Waiter: Oh okay. (walks halfway back to his doorway)

Creepy Friend: Darn.. 'cause we were totally going to have sex with you until now.

Me: (nearly pee myself)

Creepy Friend: Just kidding. You're probably twelve.

Me: (awkward giggle.) Haha all right...

Now, first of all, this guy was SIGNIFICANTLY older than me. He wasn't like some teenager that's totally brain-dead. No, he was at least late thirties. And wearing a sweater-vest.

Second, "You're probably, like, twelve." TWO points for this! 1) If I look twelve, why in the world are you hitting on me??? That's incredibly creepy. And shady. 2) I DO NOT LOOK TWELVE! I was actually highly insulted by this comment. I do not look twelve. And, if I were twelve, I'd be the world's most developed twelve-year-old. Okay? I was wearing a tank top, so it's not like I was hidden. (I was wearing Mama's jacket over it. But, it was open! Entirely!) Finally, my very last point, even if I was of-age, I wouldn't sleep with some guy who hit on my tattoo in a Mexican restaurant!
I'm glad I have Ben. Other than that, I'd hate all men not related to me. Especially the ones who don't open doors for anybody.