better as friends.”
Marie huffs as she folds her arms across her chest. “Good.”
“You can breathe easy. I'm not gonna buy into his bullshit.”
“Even better.”
“Look, I know how much you hate Luca-”
“Hate anything that rabid.”
“He's not that bad.”
Her eyebrows lift in a sarcastic fashion.
Don't join her.
“Okay, he is that bad. I'm convinced he might have next generation herpes, but he's a good person. He's got a good heart.”
Marie's face twists again.
How about a little support here?
“Trust me. He really is. He just tends to show his fuck head side to most people and save the one who would rescue an orphan from a burning building to a select few of us.”
“Like you and the orphan?”
Giggling at her comment is not supportive!
I let out an exasperated sigh.
She surrenders her hands and says, “Fine. I'll take your word for it. But even if he is possibly , and I use that term loosely, a decent human being or even a great friend, he's not the kind of guy a woman like you should ever actually date.”
Curious to her thoughts on the situation I ask, “Because?”
“Because you deserve better than some asshole who can't keep his eyes or his hands to himself long enough to commit to one person for longer than the amount of time it takes to make Ramen noodles.”
Relief slides around my shoulders.
Not exactly where I thought she would go. Guess my brain is more insecure than I care to admit. Most of the time I assume immediately guys like him have never wanted me because I don't physically fit the part. No overly dyed hair. No photo shopped waist line. No concern over getting crumbs on my shirt or sauce on my face. Plus, I can spell my own name without the assistance of auto correct. It's not that I don't have attractive features or qualities, they're just not the ones that appeal to guys like Luca. I'm okay with that. And I've always been okay with that. From the first time and only time I played spin the bottle where Matt Gimble refused to kiss a girl who looked like a boy in his warped sixth grade mind, I've accepted I'm not the female guys flock to for romantic reasons. Contrary to some people's beliefs there's nothing wrong with staying in the friend's zone. Personally, I love it here. I can burp the alphabet, have a boob itch, and not shave for a few weeks without any objections. My problem is Luca's new found desire to want to burn down this territory. This very safe, very comfortably, very pleasant territory.
“Speaking of dating...” A glimmer fills her eyes I know too well. “Grant has this work friend-”
“No,” I shut down the conversation. “No more set- ups or blind dates.”
“Why not?”
“They're never my type.”
Marie hums, “What exactly is your type?”
I start to answer but pause, unsure exactly of what to say. As I realize I've never had to verbally explain to another person the type of guy I'm interested in I fumble during my response, “Someone who I can talk to about books without feeling like they're a snob. Someone who appreciates jazz music but isn't pretentious about it. Someone who doesn't mind doing most of the work when we go canoeing.”
Marie nods slowly. “Sounds like Warren.”
Warren's sweet face invades my mind.
It's not like the idea hasn't boarded my thought train. However as soon as it leaves the track, the Luca one zooms out behind it. I'm getting to the point where it feels like a fucked up math problem. If the Warren train leaves the station at 7 a.m. and the Luca train leaves the station at 11 a.m. because its conductor slept in, what time will they both arrive at the Shouldn't Be Having This Thought Process station?
“You can date Warren. I like Warren. He has a soul.”
“Luca has a soul.”
“Not in his possession.”
Giving myself another look in my full length mirror, I
Marie huffs as she folds her arms across her chest. “Good.”
“You can breathe easy. I'm not gonna buy into his bullshit.”
“Even better.”
“Look, I know how much you hate Luca-”
“Hate anything that rabid.”
“He's not that bad.”
Her eyebrows lift in a sarcastic fashion.
Don't join her.
“Okay, he is that bad. I'm convinced he might have next generation herpes, but he's a good person. He's got a good heart.”
Marie's face twists again.
How about a little support here?
“Trust me. He really is. He just tends to show his fuck head side to most people and save the one who would rescue an orphan from a burning building to a select few of us.”
“Like you and the orphan?”
Giggling at her comment is not supportive!
I let out an exasperated sigh.
She surrenders her hands and says, “Fine. I'll take your word for it. But even if he is possibly , and I use that term loosely, a decent human being or even a great friend, he's not the kind of guy a woman like you should ever actually date.”
Curious to her thoughts on the situation I ask, “Because?”
“Because you deserve better than some asshole who can't keep his eyes or his hands to himself long enough to commit to one person for longer than the amount of time it takes to make Ramen noodles.”
Relief slides around my shoulders.
Not exactly where I thought she would go. Guess my brain is more insecure than I care to admit. Most of the time I assume immediately guys like him have never wanted me because I don't physically fit the part. No overly dyed hair. No photo shopped waist line. No concern over getting crumbs on my shirt or sauce on my face. Plus, I can spell my own name without the assistance of auto correct. It's not that I don't have attractive features or qualities, they're just not the ones that appeal to guys like Luca. I'm okay with that. And I've always been okay with that. From the first time and only time I played spin the bottle where Matt Gimble refused to kiss a girl who looked like a boy in his warped sixth grade mind, I've accepted I'm not the female guys flock to for romantic reasons. Contrary to some people's beliefs there's nothing wrong with staying in the friend's zone. Personally, I love it here. I can burp the alphabet, have a boob itch, and not shave for a few weeks without any objections. My problem is Luca's new found desire to want to burn down this territory. This very safe, very comfortably, very pleasant territory.
“Speaking of dating...” A glimmer fills her eyes I know too well. “Grant has this work friend-”
“No,” I shut down the conversation. “No more set- ups or blind dates.”
“Why not?”
“They're never my type.”
Marie hums, “What exactly is your type?”
I start to answer but pause, unsure exactly of what to say. As I realize I've never had to verbally explain to another person the type of guy I'm interested in I fumble during my response, “Someone who I can talk to about books without feeling like they're a snob. Someone who appreciates jazz music but isn't pretentious about it. Someone who doesn't mind doing most of the work when we go canoeing.”
Marie nods slowly. “Sounds like Warren.”
Warren's sweet face invades my mind.
It's not like the idea hasn't boarded my thought train. However as soon as it leaves the track, the Luca one zooms out behind it. I'm getting to the point where it feels like a fucked up math problem. If the Warren train leaves the station at 7 a.m. and the Luca train leaves the station at 11 a.m. because its conductor slept in, what time will they both arrive at the Shouldn't Be Having This Thought Process station?
“You can date Warren. I like Warren. He has a soul.”
“Luca has a soul.”
“Not in his possession.”
Giving myself another look in my full length mirror, I
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