No Strings

Chapter 52--The End of Blind Dates

"Then why can't I be an asexual asexual."

He rolled his eyes.

"Because you weren't wired that way."

"Give me a lobotomy then!" My laments were ridiculous, but I didn't care.

"You want a pituitary extraction? You know that'll mess with your other hormones too. It might give you awful migraines."

What I hated most of all was a know-it-all when I wanted to rant for a few hours. He was grinning in the most self-satisfied way.

"How do you know any of that?" I asked.

"My brother is a doctor."

"Then get him to extract the 'I'm attracted to bad men part of my brain.' If he doesn't do it, then I want a Jack Kevorkian."

The bottom bread was now crumbling. I figured I could build a sculpture with the stuff. I wondered how the executives would take that as a bread commercial. I doubt it would float with them.

"Just give it up. You know it's not going to happen. Keep looking and you'll find someone."

Those words were the least comforting words I'd heard in all of my dating career after a disaster.

He got up. Lunchtime was over. I gathered my tray with the crumbled bread and dumped the contents on the plate into the trash.

"I still want a relationship where I'm not told that the person across from me is a different species of hominid," I muttered as I followed him to continue the loads of paperwork.

He heard and said, "That's our job, isn't it?"

It was him that kept me from dating for the next month.

#

"Gahh," I hit my head against the restaurant table.

"What's wrong with you?" someone asked. I didn't remember their name. I wasn't in a state of mind to try.

"Everything." I knew I was being over-dramatic. I rocked my head back and forth across the surface for the table. Each completed rock I finished with a "why."

"What happened?" another voice asked.

"Men," was all I said looking up from behind the edge of of the used soup bowls. I was late arriving to the lunch date.

"Was the blind date yesterday that bad?" William asked.

His composed face, touch of concern and smug smile. Why couldn't I get a decent date and William always did? I knew it was sour grapes.

I shot my hand up in the air.

"First," I said raising one finger, "he picked his nose and then wiped it on his clothes then wanted me to shake that hand."

I peered up from my arms. The women at the table winced. William frowned.

"Second," I said raising another finger, "he talked over me."

"That was her first boyfriend wasn't it?" one of the women asked William. She must have had designs on him too. Like the rest of the female homo sapiens sapiens population.

Third," I said with finality and raising my ring finger, "he forgot any cash or way to pay for the date and expected me to pay for it."

"Loser," one woman offered in condolences.

"Not all men are bad," William volunteered. He was the only man at the table.

I straightened, "How would you justify that? You? I can't date you can I?"