Dating has never been easy.
As I sat staring at his message, “Coffee?” it innocently read. I wondered if I should reply to him.
What would I say? “Yes!” No, that exclamatory mark seems like I’m screaming at him.
Too much excitement. *delete* “Yes.” With a full stop? NO. Too angry. *delete*
Or should I just tell him that I’m a tea-person. Wait, does that make me sound like a grandmother?
After deliberating for an hour, I figure it is the standard time to show that I have a life.
I message “Yes, where?” While he types and stops and types again only to stop, I figure why not just check him out on Facebook.
What? No body does that? Is it creepy?
“You’re a journalist,” I tell myself. “It’s not creepy at all. You’re just getting a little information about him. What if he doesn’t like pigs and you tell him an interesting story on pigs?” That’s enough reasoning.
Oh wait, we haven’t added each other on FB. Should we have? Are we star-crossed lovers who are doomed to an end even before we have our first cup of coffee together? Do I wait for him to add me? Do I add him? Who am I asking all these questions?
Half-an-hour later and armed with my extensive background information on him, I proceed to the coffee shop. I reach there an hour early. But he has already reached the place, damnit. I’m standing opposite the road and I’m staring at him. I have my scarf on and gigantic sunglasses too. I think I look like a suave detective, well, I thought I did until a kid called me ‘Tweety-gradma’, it took me a while to realise that he called me Tweety and Sylvester’s Grandmother. *sigh*
We meet. He’s dressed well. Yes, I’m shallow.
After my first cup of coffee, I begin to see colours and I realise that I’m about to be hit with a full-blown migraine, but that doesn’t stop me from having another cup.
Three hours of conversation later and a bladder full, I decide it’s time to get home.
There is only so much that a bladder can hold. I got home and nonchalantly text him.
He was talking about this girl, who in his own words could “have eight guys at a drop of a hat”. I sighed and wondered who this girl is and why are these eight guys falling at the drop of a hat… sunstroke perhaps.
Oh, and I also felt a strange sting, what? HOW DARE CALL IT JEALOUSY?!.
Irritation takes over slowly.
I dramatically look at the now empty roof of my room, not very movie like, so I go back to squinting at the glare on my phone.
As if on cue, the music on my phone starts playing, this touch-gesture really freaks me out.
“Babe, there’s something tragic about you…
Something so magic about you,
Don’t you agree?”
Oh Hozier, sigh.