I agreed to meet him at his place this time-we'd seen one another publicly a couple of times and I was fairly confident in my ability to take him down if need be. I picked up one of those Take and Bake pizzas on the way over, thinking it would make for an easy dinner. I texted him to let him know what was up.
I arrived a little later than expected, at a three-story building that resembled a house more than an apartment. I wasn't entirely sure I was at the right place until he came out onto his balcony and set simply, "I'm up here."
As if my powers of observation had failed me or something. No, "I realize the door leading to the entryway looks like the front door to a house, but if you just give it a tug, you'll find it unlocked." No, "I'll be down in just a second." I came in to find him sitting on his couch, amid a great deal of trash. He looked confused at the pizza I was carrying. That's when he said the unthinkable: "I've already eaten." I had texted. Paid. Waited in line. Braved a great deal of traffic to make my little dinner detour. And he had already eaten. I was proud of the constrained nature of my retort, giving the anger that was steadily rising in me. "Well I haven't." Touche, Amanda. Touche.
He pointed me in the direction of his oven. No explanation on how to use it. No efforts to turn it on for me, or find me a suitable pan for the pizza until I said something. He was a bit upset by my leaving at a particularly funny part in a movie he had suggested we watch-you know, to check on my pizza. And then came the million-dollar question:
"Where are your potholders?"
"My what?"
"You know...potholders...the things you use to remove extremely hot pans from the oven?"
"Oh yeah. I don't have any."
Perfect. He sipped his coke, having not offered me anything to drink I might add. He didn't noticed as I grabbed my coat--Yes, friends-my winter coat--and used it to remove the pan from the oven. It was mostly effective, although there was a great deal of swatting the belt out of the way. Finally. My pizza looked golden brown, the melted feta glimmered on the surface of the spinach and tomatoes. My stomach grumbled and although I knew it was likely to be a fruitless endeavor, I asked after a pizza cutter. Apparently he had no one, but two. I would have facepalmed had I not been so engrossed in the act of cutting myself a large piece of pizza.
The rest of the evening went slightly better. I sat next to him, not because I had any serious interest in him at this point, but because I felt I deserved something after all I'd endured for the sake of date night. The conversation was not the best I've ever had, but nor was it the worst. He kissed me. There was some feeling up, although he clearly had no idea what he was doing. And then somehow, miraculously, we were having sex on his couch. I felt embarrassed for not remembering his name and nowhere near satisfied with the amount of foreplay, but there was a little anticipation for what would come next.
Six thrusts. That's what it took him. He had the nerve to ask how it was afterward and I replied that it had been ok (not wanting, you know, to hurt his feelings-first times are rarely ideal, you know).
"You didn't get off, did you?"
"It takes more than that to get me off."
Silence.
And then I did get off. The couch, that is. And then I was leaving. He had already warned me that I wouldn't see him next week, since Fallout 4 was being released on one of his days off. He needn't have worried. The true fallout had already happened, as far as I was concerned.
As I reflect on this more unfortunate of dates I have to ask myself why I went through with it. Why I slept with this guy who couldn't even inform me that he had eaten before letting me buy a pizza, who couldn't invite me in, offer me a drink, show any sign of hospitality. Did I feel I was owed something? Did I regret what I did only in the aftermath, when I had to face the hard truth of its having sucked?
I'm not sure I'll ever be able to answer this one. I just know how nice it was to crawl into my own bed and let out the laughter, one peal after another.
You can't make these things up.
