Playing With Matches

So, what’s his story? I asked my friend J. about a boy she brought to a party.

Are you interested in him? she asked, in a tone that clearly conveyed she thought that was the worst idea ever. (Like I had just declared that my sweet baboo was Screech from Saved by the Bell.)

He was fun to talk to.

You know those really nice, normal guys — who you wonder why they aren’t married? He’s one of them, she said.

What’s wrong with that?

He’s definitely looking for someone, but he’s really picky. He asks out a lot of girls, and he hasn’t been in a relationship in a long time.

I haven’t had a boyfriend in a while. I can’t judge him.

Well, if you want a free dinner, then go out with him, she said. But don’t put many eggs in that basket.

And with that ringing endorsement….

The new boy and I played phone tag all day yesterday. He called around 8. Due to my insane hangover, I was feeling very hot, clammy and an inch away from throwing up. I hate tequila.

He asked if I wanted to grab a bite. I said sure. 

Okay, I’ll be over in eight minutes, he said.

Eight minutes is not a lot of time for a girl to shower and change and accessorize and make up. Plus, he was early. Bastard.

We went to a middle eastern restaurant. I ordered the weirdest lentil soup I’ve ever had. It had noodles in it. (Noodles, do not belong in lentil soup.) It was covered in what my date thought was curdled cream. And there was some unidentifiable red stuff on the top that really ruined the dish. My date took a bite and told me not to eat it. I tried to eat around the curdled cream, but it was everywhere. The salad was good, though. 

I kept catching parts of the girl’s at the next table’s conversation. One girl was talking about how her new boyfriend talks NONSTOP about his Cat. 

He’s gay.

She said the guy asked her to build a web site for his cat. “Not about his cat, but for it,” she told her friends. “He says the cat doesn’t have opposable thumbs. Isn’t that cute?”

No. It’s not cute. It’s sad. It took all my will power to not get up, shake her, and tell her, “Run, Forest, Run!”

But back to my date: He was nice. It’s fun to talk to him. It wasn’t the usual first date, recite-the-same-story-of-my-life conversation. He asked different questions, which led to new answers and stories I never tell. There wasn’t a point where I wanted to leave. (How sad is it, that I’ve reached the point in dating, where I gauge evenings based on whether I’d rather be home on my couch alone?) We got ice cream, we wandered around. He drove me home. He doesn’t like that my dining chairs aren’t a matched set. (I was on my way to buy a matched set, when I stopped at a yard sale and a guy offered me two really cool chairs for $8 total. And then I found the other two later. I kinda like mixed-and-matched furniture. I guess he doesn’t. But, he seems like a tuck-your-shirt-in, and make-your-bed-every-morning kind of guy.)

We sat on my couch and talked. Then he kissed me.

Are your breasts sensitive? he asked.

Yeah. They aren’t made of steel. 

Slightly sensitive, medium sensitive, or a lot sensitive?

Is this the eye doctor? I asked.  Slightly better? Or slightly worse?

So?

They change.

He looked at me blankly.

Have you not been with a girl before?

No, he said. First time.