Ivyy Learns A Valuable Lesson About Men

Ok, so I have a confession.  Yes, I am a world-renowned expert in the art of love and the science of the pick-up, but my confession, Dear Ones, is that I was not always this naturally educated.  I was once (and still occasionally am) mystified by the Art of The Pick Up.

As an example:  just recently I was at a baseball game with Boyfriend.  In front of us; 3 drunk 26-year-old Ashleys, talking loudly on their celular phones and giggling.  Behind us and 3 seats over: 3 30-something year old guys, jovially heckling the batters, just having a good time.

Here’s how it goes down:  the guys start throwing peanuts at the Ashleys.  Ashleys One and Two turn around and give them dirty looks.  They smile, and continue with their torment.  A few minutes and a few more peanuts fly by, and finally Ashley Number 3 stands up and says, ‘OMG, I’m gonna go kick these guys asses”.

I turn to Boyfriend and say, “Wow, she’s really mad.  This is gonna be hilarious!”  Boyfriend just looks at me with that look he reserves for when I’m being particularly lost (I swear he thinks its adorable), and says, “Dude, this is all part of the game.  They knew EXACTLY what they were doing when they started throwing peanuts.  You see a cute girl at a baseball game, you throw peanuts at her.  If she comes up and talks to you, game on.  If she doesn’t, at least you still got to throw peanuts at someone.”

“Oh yeah?” says I.  “You are totally full of it.  I’m Ivyy Freakin’ Goldberg, I know a pickup when I see one, and that was TOTALLY NOT a pickup.”

Boyfriend smiles indulgently and calls my bluff.  “Go ahead,” he says.  “Go ask them what their intentions were when they started this whole madness.”

During the time I am being insufferably and smugly schooled, Ashley Number 3 has gone up to the offenders, flipping her hair over her shoulder, has flirted voraciously and tossed her head back in laughter, and has given her phone number to one of the Dudes.  The three girls have since taken off.  I thought she was being particularly forward:  I mean, someone throws something at you, and you give them your phone number?  Whaaaa?

So I walk up to the peanut throwers and introduce myself.  Of course they had heard of me and were avid readers of Donnybrook and Hand Job and a Reuben, so I had no trouble asking them personal questions while their kids were present.  (Did I mention that one of them had his 3-year-old with him?)

Ivyy: “So, when you started throwing peanuts at those girls, were you trying to hit on them?  Did you hope they would come talk to you?”

Dude Number One: “Honestly, I liked the blonde chick (Ed. Note: Ashley Number Two) better- I was hoping she would come up to talk to us.  That’s the problem with this technique, it’s scattershot.  You throw a peanut and you never know which one is gonna come up to you.”

Ivyy: “Wow.  So it WAS a technique!  And it worked out almost as you had planned.  Are you gonna call the girl?”

Dude Number One: “Maybe.  They said they were gonna be out after the game, so I might give ‘em a call, see what’s up.”

I thanked them and walked back to my seat.  Boyfriend is grinning at me.  “Ok ok,” says I.  “You were right.”

“I know I’m right.” Said Boyfriend, because he really really likes to be right.  “Also, did you notice the hand of the guy you were talking to?  Didja see the wedding band?”

Damn.  I really have a lot to learn.