| Cool Cat : Part II |
| Written by G. Wright | ||||
Page 1 of 2  I woke up the next morning to three new emails from the academia-subway guy. Each a word long.MDick to Me / 6:17 am / No Subject meow. MDick to Me / 8:21 am / No Subject prrrrrrr.... MDick to Me / 10:24 am / No Subject RRROOOOAAAARRRRR. WTF? Is this some sort of new dirty talk I was unaware of? Cat noises? I don’t even like cats. I’m a dog person. Did the escalation of emotion translate as impatience or excitement? Weirded out, but inexplicably intrigued, I responded anyway. G to MDIck / 11:06 am / ………. Did your pesky cat break into your computer again? Humor sprinkled with sarcasm works to ease awkwardness. I left it at that, and went about my business for the day. I completely forgot about the intellectual stranger I had met the night before. Until I got home. Another email. He asked to hang out the next night. Was he desperate? Most of the men smitten with me put up some kind of cool guy front in the beginning. I’m attracted to assholes (sometimes). It didn’t make sense that he would be so aggressive, so quickly. This isn’t the sort of man I normally attract. Against my better judgment, I agreed to meet him Saturday night of the following week. I had unwillingly acquired the male gene for ‘dating indifference’ after breaking up with my psycho boyfriend, Justin (you’ll hear about him soon enough). I was tossing boys away like $1-store paper towels. I had decided monogamy is the use of a cotton towel and I couldn’t be bothered with laundry at the moment. “Fat Black Pussy Kat or Fat Cat?”, he asked me when we were choosing a place to exchange energy. “What’s your deal with this cat stuff?” “I am a cat.” “No seriously.” “I am serious.” This was another one of those moments in life when the answers are right in front of you, but you choose to ignore them. The yellow Do Not Cross ribbon could not have been more obvious, but I simply crawled under it, too curious to know what was beyond. My compromise: I wouldn’t be meeting him alone. “I’m game for either spot, but my friend Violeta is coming with me.” “Will she be joining us for dinner as well.” His voice sounded regal, yet I could pinpoint the sarcastic underlying rudeness. I pretended not to notice. But after that comment, I decided I wouldn’t be going to dinner either. “No silly. I’m not going to dinner either.” I couldn’t work up the excitement to sit across from him for an hour and talk. That was quality time and there was no way he qualified. We arrived at Black Cat an hour late. He text me a total of 12 times in those 60 minutes. I looked at Violeta deadpan: “This boy and I are never gonna work. If you don’t like him, don’t feel the need to be nice on my account.” Here’s a little lesson: Sometimes the best way to reach someone is to leave him or her alone. Doesn’t matter how good-looking or charming you are. If you call me too much, you won’t be calling me at all. |
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