His continuous chatter was slowly draining out my enthusiasm, becoming as frustrating as the soccer game, as the ball bounced back and forth the screen with no real action.
“But the thing is,” he continued, “You really can’t tell what a man is like until after you’ve slept with him. Men are different pre and post sex.”
What had he been talking about prior to that disturbing comment? I quickly fastforwarded my immediate memory- ah, something about how first impressions were not important. Hm…
I didn’t even bother to argue with him. I didn’t even want to know his theory, whatever it may be. I could have told him how the content of his conversation was something unproper for a first date, or how most women prefer men who mince their words. I felt like I was in a PT session, with an overly enthusiastic person persuading me to make an investment. I wasn’t being convinced. “What am I doing here,” I thought to myself.
“You’re not eating much.”
“No..I’m sort of getting sleepy…it’s very late…” I gave him my best sleepy smile.
“You have beautiful eyes.”
Flutter of eyelids, bashfully looking down at my hands… I hadn’t put on this act in a long time, but it has not gone rusty yet. Thank goodness. If you have ugly legs and a bad figure, the least you can have are pretty eyes. Or at least seemingly pretty to those that are semi-drunk.
“If you were my girlfriend, I would offer you my bed since I live so close, but…”
He was testing me. I smiled politely.
“Thank you, but I can take a cab.”
The next day, E** burst into a fury as I related to her the conversation of the previous evening.
“He must be crazy! Why did you tolerate that? I would have smacked him in the face!”
“I dunno. I just figured he was doing things his way and as long as he didn’t force me into anything it really didn’t matter.”
“I don’t understand you.”
I didn’t bother retorting to E**’s comment, which just seemed like another theory. All these people and all these theories… but so few to agree with and appreciate.