N.B.: I posted twice yesterday. This is it for today.
What L. said to me after ten minutes of making out after watching Lara Croft: Tomb Raider tangled up with me on my couch:
“This is an awkward moment to say this, but less awkward now than in ten minutes. . . . I’m not really into this.”
What I said:
“Well, drat. . . . You’re right, it is an awkward moment, but I understand.”
What I should have said:
“You’re damn right it’s an awkward moment, especially since you had the opportunity to say the same thing when you lay down on my bed ten minutes ago or when I asked you if you wanted to come into my bedroom fifteen minutes ago or when you put your arm around me on the couch two hours ago or in fact at any number of times before now, any of which would have spared me at least some of the utter humiliation I feel at this moment, plus when you showed up at my door I was appalled to see that what I’d thought (in the dim restaurant lighting) was blond highlighting was actually premature graying, and anyway I spent most of the movie thinking about how my office crush is so much more interesting and attractive than you are, so get out of my fucking apartment, you bastard.”
I’d thought for one brief, shining moment that there might actually be somebody I didn’t hate.
There goes that theory.