I am the kind of guy you hear about, if, you know, you're a therapist: a three-strike story

"That's a nice dress," I said, "it allows everyone a nice view of your breasts."

She narrowed her eyes for a moment. "I'm Christine."

"Good, good. Can you get me a drink?"

Another pause. More narrowed eyes. "I can't decide if you're funny, if you're nice, or if you're an asshole," she said, "but it's one of the three."

"Both," I said and smiled. Then I planted a kiss on her mouth and left to get myself another beer.

Later, after we had snoggled for a while, she asked me if I wanted to come to her place. "Hey, want to come to my place?" she said.

"No."

And then, for the first of three times, she gave me a chance to take back a mistake. "You're not that type of guy, huh?"

"No, no," I said, "I'm just not interested." Then I laughed, and she laughed too-- a little uneasily at first, but then more heartily.

"Nice, funny, or asshole, it's one of the three," she said again. We resumed snoggling.

This continued for some time. "There's a lot of you to handle," I observed presently. She looked at me, not even asking what I meant. She was pretty apparently confused. I clarified for her. "Like, the handles-- the fat rolls, you know?"

She masked her hurt by putting on a hurt face. "You can NOT say that to a girl," she said. It was strike two.

She decided to leave. It was pretty late. We were at the door. "Why haven't you asked for my phone number?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm not interested," I told her, which was true enough.

She laughed again, but more tentatively now. "You won't take my phone number, huh?" she smiled.

"No, thanks."

She went down the stairs more rapidly, calling after her, "I know which one of the three you are now!"

"No you don't," I reassured her, and laughed and laughed.

It was a very tongue-in-cheek night.