10.11.10
Work It In
An open letter to The Fellas.
The other night I was out at what we’ll call an event. On any given night in NYC, there are any number of these, where tiny renditions of larger food are passed around and bars are mercifully open. Because we’re still in a recession.
I was surprised at the amount of attractive guys there, and sadly not surprised by the obligatory Urban Grizzly Adams. But seeing as how I didn’t need to put up any preserves for the winter and am currently single, I focused on the guys whose chins I could see. Grizzly, see you when I need an otter pelt.
I began chatting with a very nice young man because, well, he was the first one there. We talked about what he does and segued into how much we both love food – the usual. Fairly quickly into our conversation, he introduced me to his girlfriend. Not in the flesh, you understand. It was the concept of his girlfriend that I got introduced to. I’m going to admit to not remembering exactly how he did it, even though at this point, I was drinking seltzer. It was something along the lines of, “My girlfriend and I…” In any case, he worked it into the conversation, and there she was.
Now the point is not whether I was interested in him as potential dating material (remember, first to arrive) and I didn’t instantly sprint across the room to get away from him either. But I did know exactly where I stood. Behind him and his girlfriend on the subway, while I pray in vain for my stop to arrive, so I no longer have to observe their happy loving ways.
Later on in the evening, another young man turned up, who I will admit to finding cute. In that sort of well-scrubbed, the hope in my eyes hasn’t been replaced by despair, type of way. You know, if you like that sort of thing. We chatted. He was (and still is, I imagine) funny, charming, and wearing what I remember to be decent clothes, which is all too often amazing (read: I’ve been hanging out with comics way too long).
We talked and joked, I continually mispronounced his name (because that’s always hilarous and people love that!), and when the party moved to the front of the bar, so did we, sitting next to each other and continuing to chat.
And then he was on his phone giving someone information about how to get where we were…and I could just sense, somehow, in the tone…it seemed to be a girl. Eventually he left his seat to speak to some friends who were there. And then a girl and a guy showed up and sat on the other side of his vacated seat. And when he returned, he kissed that girl full on the lips.
Oh.
And then he said this.
“Allison, this is my girlfriend, ________.” She had one of those “eeeeeeee” names. Why is it always one of those “eeeeeeee” names? Those Stratford Upon Bayone type of names. You can just see her pregnant mother sitting at a kitchen table, smoking, and deciding the name sounds fancy- like a queen! Or a fifteen year Nickolodeon actress. (But this isn’t about her. She is an innocent bystander in all this. And I’m sure she’s very nice.)
Then he got up to go to the bathroom, and I turned to my sister and said “Ready to go?” We left.
As I lingered on a goodbye hug in the street with someone I had just met that night, for that moment too long that probably makes it inappropriate, I wondered why the fuck he didn’t mention his fucking girlfriend the entire fucking time we were talking. Fuck.
I just want to know what I’m getting into. Is that really too much to ask? I’m not going to try to move in on you if you have a girlfriend, and I’m also not going to expend the same kind of energy on you that I would if I knew you were single. It’s only fair. Would you hire a wild animal wrangler (don’t get excited, don’t know if that’s a job) to go into a cave and trap a cougar (would a cougar even be in a cave? again, no fact checker) when you knew there was only a helpless bunny in there? No – because it would be A WASTE OF EVERYONE’S TIME. Unless, of course, for some reason having to do with your vanity, you just wanted to see what a wild animal wrangler wears to wrangle. In this case, jeggins (Kell on Earth pronunciation), a tshirt, and heels.
Fellas, you have got to work this information into your conversations. I know you’re afraid that your already being spoken for will crush each and every lassie you meet, but please for the love of Ketel One, work it in. There are so many ways to do it:
Where’d you get thoes shoes? MY GIRLFRIEND would love them.
Sorry, I had to take that call, MY GIRLFRIEND is on her way here.
I was just thinking – MY GIRLFRIEND is thinner than you.
I know it can be awkward, but isn’t it better to momentarily feel kind of like an asshole, than to actually be one?
Please. I simply don’t have this kind of time left. The days are getting shorter, and the scent of winter is already in the air. Somewhere behind me I hear the snap of a twig, but when I turn around, no one is there. Not even the twig. And very very faintly, like a radio playing way up in the window of a building, I hear the Banshee wail.
Don’t waste my fucking time. Work it in.
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