Apparently, things could be worse. After speaking with a formerly single friend, B., I feel better. Not only is she a wonderful listener and one of the most empathic people I know, she has had equal or more dating experience than I have, plus she is now happily married. It is important to have a person such as B. in your life. She is my silver lining. There could, at the end of this horrific - oh I mean learning experience type of thing - journey, be a person in the world I enjoy and he enjoys me. And i could be a wonderful artist and knitter with a fantastic book coming out and be featured in Vogue knits (Miss Flitt) and my husband could be very proud of me too. But wait, that's B.
So - B. one upped my date with Phantom D. She said, "You could be on a date with a woman." Then she clarified, "It's fine to be on a date with a woman, but when you were expecting a man…" More precisely, things could have been worse: I could have been not only on a date with a married man, a louse, or a moron, but a person of the same gender. I could have been on a date with a woman who is "transitioning." While this is a wonderful thing in a person's life and kudos to them, I expect my dates to at least be straight up, pun intended, when it comes to gender. Perhaps this is asking for too much.
I've finally found the answer: D. is a woman becoming a man and he's married and he's in the CIA and all of his limbs have atrophied because of his hospital visit where he got bed sores and nobody turned him. It makes sense. What doesn't make sense is that I have broken out in hives. There are just three, shiny, quarter sized and quite itchy, on my thighs of all places. I have not gotten hives since freshman year, high school when my supposed best friend, who being Indian and sporting a severe overbite and moustache, looked suspiciously like Omar Sharif, turned chilly on me, hating me outright, and recruited other ugly friends to follow suit. They all dumped me immediately. I recall my horror: I was in the bathroom, stressing out, when I saw the welts. I woke up with some more the next day.
By the time my mom called the doctor about her freakish daughter's "confluent welts and bumps" as she aptly put it, they had disappeared. Skin had the ability to do this to you - to turn on you and express your emotions. My mother wasn't fully convinced. Plus, she was pissed. I handed her the tell off note from said ex BFF. My mother grilled me some more about the ugly ex-best friend situation and finally had a sit-down with said girl's mother. I knew I was too old for such a thing then - a whopping 13 - but it was a nice opportunity to get my ex friend into deep shit with her mother. How could I resist? The hives went away and soon I started to feel better. Plus, I quickly made new friends, and they were more attractive, which meant I moved up a notch in high school speak, not to mention making a wonderful friend in chemistry who I could cheat on many tests with. Had I not met him, I may still be in high school.
So, that is my update on hives, high school, and nefarious men.
Date tomorrow night. Very much looking forward to it. I shock myself with this blind optimism.
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