The Ghosts of Christmas Past.

Last night I went to the one bar in town where everyone goes when home for the holidays. As I was sitting there talking to a friend of mine, a very large, muscular, vaguely familiar looking...uh, man? came up beside me.

(A meat-head if you will.)

"Heeelllllloooooooooo there", he said.

"Hi." I said back.

"I don't think I know you. What's your name?"

"Jenn." I said.

"Well, Jenn" he said, "If I may say so, you are really hot" (10 points for style! Nice and creative. Right to the point.) "And I would like to buy you a drink."

Although, this method of directness and cockiness will usually win me over, (no it won't) it was at this time that I realized who he was and that I used to baby-sit him when he was 7.

I told him this and after a few stunned seconds with jaw dropped and mutterings of "Uh....I....oh....what?" I thought maybe we would all have a good laugh over it.

But then I felt a hand on my lower back and, "BARTENDER!".

Well played Meat-Head-Boy-I-Used-to-Baby-Sit.

Well played.