“But, you know, Dahmer picked up most of his victims on the club scene.”
What thefuckam I saying?
“Rodney Alcala was on a dating show while he was active.Howmanypeople have died because of Tinder?”
Whatever warm, shimmery connection I thought we had is thoroughly unraveling with every word that comes out of my mouth.
Still, some dumb part of me thinks that I can save this by finishing with “I guess—what I mean is… dating is a dangerous pastime.”
Wes stares at me, his jaw tense, as the silence drags like a body being carted down a hallway by a hulking teen murderer.When the bell dings, signaling the end of our allotted ten minutes and the start of the fifteen-minute break, he can’t get out of his chair fast enough.
“It was nice getting to know you, Jamie,” he mutters, rising slowly from his seat like he’s actively trying not to bolt out of it.
“Yep!”I say too loudly, too high-pitched, audibly pathetic.“You, too.”
He gives me one more wary look and then he’s gone, striding out of the room like he’s never going to come back.Laurie glances across at me and, seeing whatever expression is on my face, winces.One minute of word vomit and I’ve butchered any chance of introducing this smoking-hot man to aPoltergeist/Ghostdouble feature.
If someone could walk over right now and put me out of mymisery, that would be fantastic.Bring on the machete, the butcher’s knife, the claw glove.’Cause there’s no coming back from that.
I use the break to regroup with Laurie, bypassing the bathroom so I can tell her about the heinous end to my date with Wes.My account garners a deeper wince and some targeted flirting on her part with the hot-nerd bartender that results in an even heavier pour of vodka into our espresso martinis.It’s a consolation in the loosest sense, one that loses its effectiveness when the break is almost over and Wes returns to the bar.I try to direct an apologetic look in his direction as he makes his way to Laurie’s table, but he averts his gaze from mine.Like I’m the psychotic woman who casually brings up murder with people she’s just met.Which, oh yeah,I am.
The glimmer of hope with John and his cute eye crinkle and floppy hair seems like it’s flickered out, too.While he managed to give me a shy smile during the break, I can’t help but notice that his first date in the second half of the evening seems to go really well.He has his attention squarely on Jennifer with the gorgeous blowout, his head ducked and that same soft, close-mouthed smile gracing his face while they chat.Not to mention she keeps tracing her fingers across her collarbone.A classic, practiced move that certainly achieves better results than word vomiting intimate details about some of the most fucked-up serial killers in history.So when John moves on from their date and isn’t shooting me looks anymore, I’m not even mad.
Still, my heart just isn’t in it after the break, and that means my sixth, seventh, and eighth dates kind of blur together while I’m feeling sorry for myself.When the bell rings and the men move on to their second-to-last dates—Wes avoiding my eye and John walking across the room to go sit with the woman with the resting bitch face without giving me a second glance—I don’t expect the night to improve.
And if there’s one person in the room who can meet that expectation, it’s date number nine.Curtis.
BecauseCurtisis a massive dick.
I’d even go so far as to say Curtis falls into a specific category of men who only appeal to a very small group of women who haven’t discovered therapy, the concept of gender equality, and are color-blind in a way that prevents them from seeing glaring red flags.
He’d be perfect for that kind of girl.
In the first five minutes of the date we cover names, what we’re drinking, and how his dates have been so far.Apparently, a lot of the women are bitches.
After those thrilling topics, the conversation lulls and I’m back to playing with the stem of my glass as he downs the rest of his drink.
“That’s a nice dress,” Curtis remarks when his vodka Red Bull (Yes… avodka Red Bull) is nothing but yellow-tinted ice.
“Thank you?”I brace myself for what’s about to come next, because Iknowthere’s more to come.His tongue is posed against his top teeth, his eyes narrowed appraisingly, and I just hope he’s not going to be so inanely predictable and say—
“It’d look better on my floor.”
Ugh.
You know what’s already on the floor?The fucking bar.It’s been set so low and yet this guy is struggling to jump over it and conduct a conversation that doesn’t make me feel like I need a shower.
“Sheesh, really, Curtis?That’s how we talk to women on this side of the millennium?”
I try to say it in a joking way.That’s how we’re conditioned to respond to men like Curtis.Keep it light, keep it playful.Because men like him are full of hot air and sometimes they blow up in your face and you get burned.
“I’m giving you a compliment,” he replies, and I can’t help butroll my eyes.I don’t even try to hide it.Kate Winslet did not put in the hard work so women like me could smile and nod.Maybe I hold myself to a higher standard than ol’ Curtis, but I just expect more from a date than what is currently manspread in front of me.
“The rapey undertone kind of counteracts the intent.”
He scoffs, but he’s jacked up on taurine and the false impression he is a ten among a room of twos.
“A guy can’t even give a girl a fucking compliment these days,” he huffs, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair.Even though I’m a card-carrying rule follower, and we’re supposed to keep our dates “light and polite,” something inside me just snaps.I’m not one to choose violence, but being a woman in academia and tutoring first-year film students—the kind who think identifying a Dutch angle in a Michael Bay film makes them incapable of receiving anything other than full marks—hasn’t exactly made me shy away from confrontation, either.Maybe it’s because we’re almost two hours into this event andsomebodyshould’ve put this guy in his place already.Or maybe it’s because the way Wes left my table was a little bit more of a stab to my ego than I’d like.But if Curtis is going to move on to Laurie and add me to the list of bitches of the night, I want to at least give him a strong argument for that case.
