Andrew Goes on Another Date

POF is usually a waste of time. Yes, there are Plenty of Fish in the sea. But there are also poisonous jellyfish, sharks, eels, ugly things, salt, tidal waves, and death. Case in point, occasionally logging into the free account usually reveals a series of tragedies.

There’s a message in my Inbox, I ready myself for something horrific, but am instantly surprised upon a few clicks. It seems this time I’ve caught a beautiful marlin.

This girl is gorgeous. Her name is Diane. She’s 23, it says. A 1^st grade teacher, so she likes kids. She’s got a great smile in her little black dress. From a large family. Dark hair, even darker eyes, and a shapely, healthy yoga body. No cats. A nonsmoker. Classy, but sexy. She even writes in complete sentences.

So I respond to her, with brevity. Friendly, but all business. Within minutes I have her number, and she wants to meet me at a bar near her house in Tempe.

I couldn’t believe how easy that part was. I was so excited, reinvigorated even.

After work, I open my phone and see that Diane texted me “See you there at 10!”

She remembered me! She really wants to see me!

I get to the bar twelve minutes early. I want to get at least a drink in me beforehand. I’ll need the social lubricant, especially because I need this date to count.

I finish my first long island and check my watch. It’s ten o’clock.

10:05 rolls around, and I imagine myself reliving that scene from Dumb and Dumber. I order a second drink. What if she never shows up? A part of me would be relieved, for some reason.

At 10:07, the door opens. It’s her. And there isn’t much left to the imagination.

In the picture, Diane’s hair was tied back neatly in a studious bun. This time, it’s long, dark and flowing. She has strikingly smooth, fair skin. I noticed this, because she wasn’t dressed like a teacher would be. Not even close.

Diane’s in tiny jean shorts (so the pockets stick out the bottom) and like half a top with her glorious boobs pushed up. There’s some kind of bracelet and ring accessories going on, but I’m too intimidated to look any longer.

I stare at my drink, as she sits next to me. She smells like vanilla and fruit mixed together.

“There you are, Andrew,” there’s a smile in her voice. I turn to her, and watch my body operate in its charismatic charade. It says hi to her, tells her she looks great. She giggles, like a ray of sunshine bouncing in her stool.

“You look better than your picture,” she says, clearly relieved about it.

As the minutes pass, and the booze tingles through me, I start to realize she’s just a person. I can talk to people. She’s just one of them. My funnyguy shell is doing great, I let him handle it.

It’s going well, she’s laughing real laughs. At one point, she kissed my cheek in between sips of her cosmo.

I check my watch, it’s 11:30.

“I wish I had a teacher that looked like you in 1^st grade,” my mouth says.

“Oh… I’m not a teacher,” she says to her cosmo.

What.

“Are you still in school for it?”

“Nah.”

“I’m sorry, your profile sa-”

“No one means that stuff.”

“They don’t?”

“No one reads it, either.”

“I do?”

“That’s stupid.”

So I sat for a bit, sounds of sports and clamoring drinkers around us. I wonder how far her profile’s inaccuracies went.

“So what do you actually do?”

“I’m a dancer.”

“A dancer. Like the kind that uh… make lots of money?”

“The exotic kind, yes,” she smiles from her lips, but not from her eyes.

The internal conflict of excited weiner versus disappointed brain waged inside of me. I could feel my shell faltering.

Diane’s finished her drink, and is concentrating on her smartphone. I take the moment to observe her. Some of her hair has fallen across her pretty face. While looking at her phone, a shade came over her eyes, and for a second they looked much older. I really don’t know a thing about this girl, I realize.

She taps something on her phone, and is putting it back in her purse, and says

“So you gonna fuck me or what.” 

So flatly, I wasn’t sure if she actually said it.

“What?”

She’s got her purse over her shoulder, ready to leave, “Uh yeah, so we gonna fuck?”

The last word flicked out of her face again, so casually, so routinely, so empty of any emotional investment. This was happening, this was real. This was what I thought I always wanted.

But why don’t I?

Wait, I do. Don’t I? Am I finally lucking out?

 I should. No, don’t. Should I? Is this a trap?

My charismatic robot body was failing. It was just me now, showing through. Nervous and lost.

She must have sensed my hesitation. I could feel the window closing rapidly. She didn’t move away, but the distance between us tripled.

“You don’t want to?” she asked, slightly confused.

“Yeah, I mean yeah I do. I just. Well usually I have to court her for a while first. Get her to like me, or something y-”

She puts a hand on mine, patting it, “Don’t worry. I don’t like you. I don’t even know you.”

“Well isn’t that. I mean why, I don’t, uh.”

She stands up from her stool, placing a crisp fifty on the counter.

“I’m gonna go. Forget it,” her voice fell flat again. I was already worthless to her.

The bartender, who was in earshot of the whole thing, watches her rear as it swaggers out the door.
There’s a pause, I’m staring at my hands, and I feel him lean in towards me.

“Wow. You blew it man... Holy shit.”

My hands clench and unclench. The room is much dimmer now.

“Can I just get another long island, please.”

“Sure, man...” he looks again at the empty doorway, breathing in the last of her scent, “Damn.”

I watch him chuckle to himself, shaking his head, as he makes my drink.

This long island tastes much stronger than the last. He must be thinking he’s doing me a favor. I sit alone, watching a few replayed innings of a baseball game I don’t care about, hate myself, then leave.