Match 1: Is he the one that went to Emerson?
Me: I liked it better when you were messaging about nipples. I don’t want to talk about who went to Emerson.
Match 1: How come?
Me: Because the more I deal with all these dating things I have to do, and the more people try to shove their advice down my throat, I’ve come to the conclusion that none of it really matters. We’re all just a bunch of idiots trying to rub our crotches on each other. And people don’t stay in love. At least not with me. They leave and they don’t explain why. They find a better offer somewhere and leave you wondering why you weren’t good enough or important enough for them to stay. They forget your birthdays and how to say sorry and make you go through things alone when you need them the most. And you realize they never could have loved you as much as you loved them and nothing in the world will break your heart quicker than offering the best of yourself to someone and it still not being good enough for them.
Oh my God.Why did I send that emotional word vomit? Is there any way to erase it?I tap into the settings, but see nothing to help me erase all the crazy I just overshared.
Match 1:Whoa.
Me: Yeah, well. It was nice chatting with you. Sorry I let my psycho out. I blame it on the wine.
Match 1: I don’t think you’re a psycho at all. I think you’re a really awesome person with a broken heart and I don’t want to ruin this. I don’t want to lose it. I know this app is weird, but I like this. I like getting to know you.
Me: Thanks. I like it too.
Match 1: I just walked into my apartment. Are you still wearing that jersey?
Me: Yes.
Match 1: Good. Take it off. I want to go to bed tonight knowing you’re naked because of me.
Chapter 13
Thanks to Gail, my Wednesday night is saturated with assholes. This morning at work, I tried to explain to her that I really don’t need another asshole, the one asshole in my pants is more than enough for me, but it didn’t matter what I said, nothing changed her mind.
So, now I’m on a rooftop bar, where I’m freezing my ass off and there’s a nonstop barrage of human dicks, big and small, trying to expel their goblin semen into any willing participant. It’s called the Rooftop Romance Single’s Mixer, and it’s rapidly making me want to fling myself off of it. There are a least twenty guys here flexing their arms and walking around like overly stimulated peacocks. The women are worse. All I see are boobs. Everywhere I look, some women’s boobies are bursting out of their too-tight, too-low-cut shirts. Nipples poking out like sharp barely concealed weapons.
At least I’m not alone this time, Nate sits on my left and Julia on my right. Both of them are dressed to the nines, unlike me. I’ve taken Match 1’s advice, protesting Gail’s project by being utterly undatable and horribly unattractive. Unfortunately, I didn’t have to work too hard at it.
My ensemble screams homeless. A pile of unwashed, unbrushed curls perches on top of my head in an enormous, messy bun. I have no make-up on and the bags under my eyes make me look like I should be resting in a hospital bed. My clothes are the oldest things I own. A pair of tight sweatpants from my high school gym class and a ripped t-shirt that says:Don’t test the Jesus in me.
I even maximize the cringe factor by wearing a pair of fluffy pink slippers.
Julia doesn’t approve. “You’re reacting to the end of your relationship with all the grace of a toddler getting her candy taken away,” she hisses at me.
“Me dressing like this isn’t a reaction to my breakup. It’s a reaction to being forced to date before I’m ready and having to write articles about the experience for the magazine. And I’ve decided, I’m not going back into the office until this game of hers is all over. I’m writing from home, where I can stay all day in my pajamas without this new judgement from her. She could fire me for all I care,” I say, waving a server our way like I was trying to land a plane.
“Oh God, stop. Who are you waving at like that?” Julia asks, leaning in close to me.
I laugh loudly and bump my shoulder to hers. “Could you lighten up just a little, and let me have fun with my man-repelling project?”
The server whose attention I caught, comes over with a curious smile. He looks me up and down and tries to hold in a laugh. “Um, would you like to order something from the bar?”
“Well, actually,” I say, smiling back at him, “I was wondering if there’s a sangria somewhere in this room thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about drinking it?”
The waiter laughs, unable to hold it in any longer. “I definitely think I can find a sangria interested in making its way over here.” His dancing eyes dart to Nate and Julia on either side of me. “Is anyone else thinking about a sangria as much as this beautiful woman is?”
Beautiful?Beautiful?I’m trying to go for penis repellent. A boner assassin. A woman hit by the what the fuck truck!How dare he compliment me.
“Three sangrias are fine,” Nate says.
The server nods and brings his attention back to me. “Did you dress up special just for tonight?”
I narrow my eyes at him. Okay, Karma. When is your huge slapping glove of justice going to ascend from the skies to smack this waiter in the head for being a jerk? “Why do you ask?” I say, sucking in my cheeks to add to the crazy.
The waiter bends closer to me, crouching in front of the chair I’m sitting on. “Someone like you is a hot commodity here. Low-maintenance. Great sense of humor. Naturally beautiful but doesn’t even know it. Let me guess. Your friends forced you to come?”
