Actual work conversation that occurred recently when I informed three of my colleagues (let’s call them Robert, Jenny, and Lola) that I had my first date in over six months lined up for later that evening:
- Jenny: I have an idea! Let’s place bets on what Nic will say about this date tomorrow morning.
- Robert: I’ll go first. I got five bucks that says he’s gonna be downtrodden and say that the guy was perfect except for one minor flaw that would mean nothing to a normal person but is in fact a complete deal-breaker in Nic-World.
- Jenny: Good one – like, the guy won’t be an Oprah fan or something.
- Lola: My guess is that he comes in bitching about the fact that his date checked out the waitress’s boobs and is therefore probably bisexual—yet another deal-breaker in Nic-World.
- Jenny: Or he’ll come in and be like, “Ugh. I like him… But we have the same taste in movies, so that probably means we can only be friends.”
- Me: Seriously, y’all? Not ONE of you is going to bet that my first date after a six-month spiritually-awakening sabbatical is going to go amazingly well and lead to a reciprocally fulfilling relationship based on trust, honesty, and mutual self-respect?
- All three of them, in unison: No.
The next morning…
- Me: Well, you guys. I just. It’s like… I don’t know. I didn’t like his energy.
- Robert: I WIN!
I guess he kind of did win, but I’d like it noted that I was so not downtrodden about the situation. If anything, I was joyful and at peace — because even though this dude was normal, good-looking, and smart, he was also all “LOL that’s impossible” when I told him about my dream to eventually be a full-time author, and ain’t nobody got time for cynical dream-squashers who don’t believe in miracles.
In my date’s defense, though, I should share that there was a moment during dinner when I said, “I’d really love to be trapped in a room with your grandmother,” and I think he might have taken it the wrong way. What I meant was that, even though I’m not Jewish, I’ve always been fascinated with Yiddish terms – and so when he told me that his grandmother was a master in the dialect, I figured that being trapped in a room with her would be a golden opportunity. In retrospect, however, I realize it could have come off as predatory, inappropriate, and vaguely heterosexual — and why would he want to believe in my dreams at that point?
Moving on. In totally unrelated news, this happened on Monday:
Oh my God, you guys. It was huge and disgusting and it was also kind of doing the Crip Walk and I screamed and I cried and I no longer feel safe in my own work environment, BUT I’m still alive, so I guess that’s the silver lining in all of this. Like Beyoncé, Michelle, and Kelly circa 2001, I’m a Survivor.