and probably won’t. I wonder when he’s going to email …
I’m just about to tell her about him when I notice she’s looking at me with her concerned-friend look – head tilted to the side at twenty degrees, lips slightly open, waiting for the perfect moment to say something I don’t want to hear. Oh … here it comes.
‘Listen, I’ve been thinking about you,’ she says, ‘and I know you’re going to say no way, but I think you should give the online dating thing a try.’
‘Let’s not ruin my lunch before I’ve even had a bite,’ I say, tearing the foil from the top of my burrito.
‘Don’t be like that, Suze.’
‘No way. I’m not interested, Rebecca … oh my God, this is exactly what I wanted,’ I say, taking a bite.
‘I can’t believe you won’t even give it a try. Everyone does it. That’s how you meet people nowadays,’ she says, burying her fork into her salad.
Why can’t
I
ever choose the salad in this place? I’m sure it’s lovely. You still get coriander rice and a bit of guacamole. Still, ordering a salad, at Burrito Shack? That would be like going to Betsy’s Cakes and choosing the oat and quinoa bar instead of the super-squidgy chocolate brownie: a pointless exercise in self-denial that would end badly.
Because then (hypothetically) you’d eat that oat bar and fail to be truly satisfied. So maybe you’d buy the brownie as well. Then eat the brownie on the number 88 en route to the last internet date you went on, wearing a white, Zara, dry-clean-only dress. Obviously you have no napkin; you’re not the practical type who carries Kleenex in her bag. So you’d arrive at your date flustered, with dodgy brown smears on your dress. But then rapidly realise: the stains don’t matter. You could be wearing a
Human Centipede
costume for all the difference it’d make. Because your date has lied about his height. By a mere eight inches. And while you can date a short man, you cannot knowingly date a liar. A liar who sends you a text, five minutes after your date has ended, to say, ‘Your v nice but their was no physical spark 4 me’.
And then perhaps you’d kick yourself for not having bought a second brownie to eat on the bus home as consolation. But it all worked out fine because there was still half a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food left in the freezer when you got home. And as everybody knows, Ben & Jerry’s absorbs tears much better than Kleenex anyway …
I mean that’s, like, one possible, hypothetical way that the situation might play out.
I put down my burrito and take a sip of Diet Coke. ‘Rebecca. I don’t want to have this conversation again. And you know full well I did try online dating, many times, before Jake. And it did not work out if you recall.’
‘You didn’t even go on a single date.’
‘I went on two! The guy who licked my forehead, and the extremely short guy.’
‘Oh. I thought the guy who licked you was the short guy.’
‘Tongue wouldn’t have reached.’
‘Oh … That was so long ago. You were unlucky. And there are loads of new sites, some of them are actually quite cool. Emily White in art buying just got engaged to some guy she met on My Single Friend.’
‘Well done, Emily.’
‘And I’ve met loads of good men online.’
‘Like who?’
‘Paul …’ she says.
‘You liar, you said you met him in a bar!’
‘He made me say that because he was embarrassed.’
‘There you go, and with good reason too! Met him in a bar … I can’t believe you lied to me all this time!’
‘No, he was embarrassed to admit we met online because he’s a macho old-fashioned idiot. Look, all I’m saying is that there are interesting, cute guys out there. I just think it’d be a good thing if you went on a few dates, got your confidence back. You know, take the focus a bit off …’
‘Take the focus a bit off what?’
‘I’m just saying …’
‘What are you just saying?’
‘The other night at Hawksmoor … I just think
I’m just about to tell her about him when I notice she’s looking at me with her concerned-friend look – head tilted to the side at twenty degrees, lips slightly open, waiting for the perfect moment to say something I don’t want to hear. Oh … here it comes.
‘Listen, I’ve been thinking about you,’ she says, ‘and I know you’re going to say no way, but I think you should give the online dating thing a try.’
‘Let’s not ruin my lunch before I’ve even had a bite,’ I say, tearing the foil from the top of my burrito.
‘Don’t be like that, Suze.’
‘No way. I’m not interested, Rebecca … oh my God, this is exactly what I wanted,’ I say, taking a bite.
‘I can’t believe you won’t even give it a try. Everyone does it. That’s how you meet people nowadays,’ she says, burying her fork into her salad.
Why can’t
I
ever choose the salad in this place? I’m sure it’s lovely. You still get coriander rice and a bit of guacamole. Still, ordering a salad, at Burrito Shack? That would be like going to Betsy’s Cakes and choosing the oat and quinoa bar instead of the super-squidgy chocolate brownie: a pointless exercise in self-denial that would end badly.
Because then (hypothetically) you’d eat that oat bar and fail to be truly satisfied. So maybe you’d buy the brownie as well. Then eat the brownie on the number 88 en route to the last internet date you went on, wearing a white, Zara, dry-clean-only dress. Obviously you have no napkin; you’re not the practical type who carries Kleenex in her bag. So you’d arrive at your date flustered, with dodgy brown smears on your dress. But then rapidly realise: the stains don’t matter. You could be wearing a
Human Centipede
costume for all the difference it’d make. Because your date has lied about his height. By a mere eight inches. And while you can date a short man, you cannot knowingly date a liar. A liar who sends you a text, five minutes after your date has ended, to say, ‘Your v nice but their was no physical spark 4 me’.
And then perhaps you’d kick yourself for not having bought a second brownie to eat on the bus home as consolation. But it all worked out fine because there was still half a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food left in the freezer when you got home. And as everybody knows, Ben & Jerry’s absorbs tears much better than Kleenex anyway …
I mean that’s, like, one possible, hypothetical way that the situation might play out.
I put down my burrito and take a sip of Diet Coke. ‘Rebecca. I don’t want to have this conversation again. And you know full well I did try online dating, many times, before Jake. And it did not work out if you recall.’
‘You didn’t even go on a single date.’
‘I went on two! The guy who licked my forehead, and the extremely short guy.’
‘Oh. I thought the guy who licked you was the short guy.’
‘Tongue wouldn’t have reached.’
‘Oh … That was so long ago. You were unlucky. And there are loads of new sites, some of them are actually quite cool. Emily White in art buying just got engaged to some guy she met on My Single Friend.’
‘Well done, Emily.’
‘And I’ve met loads of good men online.’
‘Like who?’
‘Paul …’ she says.
‘You liar, you said you met him in a bar!’
‘He made me say that because he was embarrassed.’
‘There you go, and with good reason too! Met him in a bar … I can’t believe you lied to me all this time!’
‘No, he was embarrassed to admit we met online because he’s a macho old-fashioned idiot. Look, all I’m saying is that there are interesting, cute guys out there. I just think it’d be a good thing if you went on a few dates, got your confidence back. You know, take the focus a bit off …’
‘Take the focus a bit off what?’
‘I’m just saying …’
‘What are you just saying?’
‘The other night at Hawksmoor … I just think
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