I don’t have a lot of time before the contents of this bottle causes me to fall onto the floor. I may have to ask you to call me an Uber. Anyway, here I am, a few days before Christmas and I’m sitting in the middle of a bar with a complete stranger sitting in front of me.

I’m Rhiannon, by the way, so we’re kind of not strangers anymore, yeah?

Yes, I’m here to pickle my liver three times over because of men. All men receive the same title of “miserable jerks”. Oh, believe me, I’ll have spicer language as the time goes by. So, it’s been two years since my last confession being single and I’ve been trying to concentrate on the great times, well, maybe I should say the good times. Would you believe if if I said ‘tolerable’?

The sad thing is that we met here. He was was sitting right behind you hanging out with his friends and I was with a few of mine, and we did that look across the void into each other eyes. If only “The Dance” was playing instead of “Cotton Eyed Joe” we could have gone out to the floor, but instead a fight broke off between one of his friends and a burly bruiser man who had the entire verse of 1 Samuel 24:12 tattooed on his back. He used a bottle and chair leg to pummel the friend. This caused the fledging romantic in me to kick into a higher gear as I saw my “space between us” lover jumping in to save his friend from further pain as the burley guy had grabbed a pitcher of beer and was ready to throw it.

Somehow, my dream guy had soothed the savage beat and was allowed to help his friend out of the bar. Oh, hell yeah. I followed them out and asked if he was okay. He commented that his friend gets into a fight at every bar, and it would have happened eventually. And yeah, I gave him my WhatsApp number…