Dating in New York is like living in a war zone; it's every man for himself and years later you emerge with lots scars and horror stories. I always assume this is unique to the city, but that's only because I've lived here for the past seven years and have never dated people anywhere else. I'm sure it's not though. I'm sure dating is awful everywhere because people are awful everywhere. And on that note, here's a story:
A few years a go I went out for drinks with a guy I met at a party. We were getting along and he seemed fine enough. Then we got on the subject of books.
Me: So what is your favorite book?
Him: Oh man, I don't know. That's a hard one.
Me (clutching my chest because I am drunk and excited that we have something in common): Oh my God, I know! It's so hard to pick just one. Okay, okay, how about your top three.
Him: Um, I meant it's hard to pick because I think I've only read, like 10.
Keep in mind that this person was 30. My head almost exploded. Then, as I was making stupid small talk to kill time until I could politely run away and pretend the last hour had never happened, he stopped me to tell me he liked my annerisms. I had no idea what he meant. Annerisms is not a word and I was too exhausted and frustrated to attempt to figure out what he was trying to say. I must have given him a look that communicated this because he smiled and explained that he liked the way I talked and moved my hands. At this point my heart dropped.
Me: Oh, you mean my mannerisms?
Him: Yeah! Yeah, that's the word. Annerism is that brain thing, right?
He meant aneurysm. I knew this because I was having one.
I can't even imagine diving back into this.
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