Or so my town would have my believe. Within ten minutes of walking into a local bar, this tall sexy redheaded girl dressed up as Jessica Rabbit starts flirting with me. I, of course, flirt back and we’re getting very physical very quick. This is the best night ever, I think.
But according to her three large male friends, who took me into a corner and put me under the Spanish Inquisition, she only had two drinks the whole night and the general consensus was that I had slipped her some sort of drug. No less than three girls I hit on later that night told me to go fuck myself for what I had done to their friend.
Jesus fuck, this is horrible. Every person in that bar now thinks I’m a date rapist. Not that it truly matters in the long run, as my costume had some serious eyebrows and 'stache going (I won the costume contest, bork bork bork) and nobody will recognize me out of costume, but fuck. I hate that people think I’m that kind of person. And that there’s no escaping it.