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4 Bad Dates
4 Bad Dates
Bad date #1
She’s making me feel like a male Scheherazade. Storytelling is the only thing keeping me my alive in her company. The problem, of course, is that one story only leads to another and then to another. Nothing’s happening except my breath isn’t getting any better and the chalky altoids are making me sick. I can’t break the cycle. Sofuckit. Kill me.
Surprisingly, she gives me her e-mail address. later, when the postmaster returns a delivery status notification (failure), it’s as if the message is laughing. I checked, there was no audio file attached, but it still kept laughing.
Bad date #2
What went wrong: she underestimated me. I overestimated her. So she ends up surprised. I, disappointed.
Her father must have been a thief, because he stole her sense of humor.
Bad date #3
Red head and British. A devastating combination for me. But add a preference for women and it becomes impossible. Yet she continues to waste her time by wasting mine. Meanwhile, her two male gay friends try to get me to go in on a hree-way with them. I’m beginning to feel set up.
Everyone’s touching my knee. It’s turning into a contest to see who can make me blush the most. They mistake redness for modesty. I clench my fists.
It’s alright though. My failures are turning out to be more interesting than any success could ever be.
Bad date #4
O man, she’s dumb. And not in a cute way. She claims her mind is visually-, not verbally- oriented, and this is why she can neither follow nor assemble a coherent sentence.
Considerately, I whap my head onto the table to convey my frustration.
She doesn’t get it.
O Lord, keep’em coming. If I can’t have happiness, I’ll settle for variety.