je bois. systématiquement.

by dorarandom

the guy i went out with yesterday was not crazy at all. he was a sane, successful, super-intelligent, super-interesting, professionally fulfilled, obviously very caring (because cat-loving) and good, completely adult man. he brought me a small box of beautiful and classy chocolate candy. you know, the kind that has designs on it. and conveyed this gift in a completely unostentatious adult classy way. he explained a lot of things about health insurance to me. (he has employees!) he has been in a lot of countries and had a lot of experiences. gotten a lot of education.

and i feel like it might be interesting to take a class with him or something, but the thought of him touching me was so repulsive it’s hard to even put into words. (and he did touch me at one point—very slightly and respectably—and indeed i was repulsed.) i don’t know why exactly i was so repulsed. i’d seen pictures—i mean, i could see he was no trip to hollywood—but he looked, you know, nondescriptly okay. and very possibly he does look nondescriptly okay. definitely i had not sufficiently mentally prepared for his shortness. but anyway, in the flesh, there was just something there i really didn’t want to look at and really didn’t want to look at me. plus a squeaky voice. i felt like we weren’t quite the same species.

so i drank my weight in (quite excellent) beer, eventually started talking in great detail about my upcoming experimental gynecological Procedure (also, for extra credit, a friend’s recent laproscopic hysterectomy), and when the man went to the bathroom i wailed to the (also quite excellent) bartender chick about how i was on a date with an ugly guy. so yeah, i was definitely at my enticing and virtuous best. getting ready for work this morning—in the dark, because powerfully foul weather hangs over the city today—that wet kind of gloom that makes it seem like it isn’t quite daytime yet all day—i bumped into the classy box of candy in my purse, opened it and yea the fancy designs on the chocolate were a reproach to me.

oh God. the weather. Man’s fallen wounded nature. everything. i never want to talk to this considerate repulsive man again. i want to forget the whole incident. i’m terrified of checking my email. i want to leave the country and live in a silent forest. yes. okay. yes i’m sensitive. and i have the emotional maturity and wherewithal of a grape.

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