John Keats shoulda gotten me a phone #

So I’m at Chaucers with Trivia Art the other night (which is kind of like being at Cheers w/ Norm. Or like being at Grace’s with Triva Art. But I digress.) And there is a very cute girl with a tattoo of a vase of some kind on her arm. I ask her, “What kind of urn you got there on your arm?’ and she says, “Grecian”. Now, where this knowledge came from, I have no idea, but before I even recognized what I was saying, I said, “Oh, so you’re a Keats fan?” Brilliant, right? How can a girl not be impressed when a guy instantly recognizes a 19th century Romantic poet who died at age 25 of tuberculosis that she is such a big fan of that she gets a giant tattoo of his most famous poetic symbol on her arm? Anyways, she smiled, said, “Yes” AND WALKED AWAY. Not kool! I’m afraid I’m going to have to call shenanigans. That’s not playing by the rules! If you get a freaking tattoo of a Grecian urn on your arm, and I correctly identify the author of “Ode to a Grecian Freaking Urn”, you owe me a sentence. No phone number, no date, but damn if you don’t owe me a sentence. You owe me, “Oh, what’s your favorite Keats poem?” or “Are you a Keats fan too?”

Now fair is fair, I would have had nothing to say, because the only things I know about Keats are that he wrote Ode to a Grecian Urn and that he died of tuberculosis. I mean, I probably would have said something stupid, like, “I’m not a big fan of Keats, but I am a big fan of tuberculosis.” And then it would have been more than acceptable for her to walk away. But NOT UNTIL I BLEW IT. Hey, I don’t make the rules, I just play by them. The women of Philadelphia need to play by them too.