Sometimes people ask me on dates. They see me on the internet. Maybe they think I’m the answer to their life problems, or loneliness. Invariably I prove them wrong.
Him: Sorry. You made me wait for longer than I thought I would have to, in that bank.
Me: Sorry I asked you to meet me there. I had to open up a business account.
Him: Why?
Me: My accountant told me to. I don’t know. You look so cute.
Him: Ugh. I feel gross. I haven’t showered and I drank last night.
Me: Did you drink a lot?
Him: Yes. My friend talked me into staying out later than I wanted to. I was out until 3. I feel queasy.
Me: Didn’t you have to be at work at 8:30? You’re hungover.
Him: No, I just didn’t sleep a lot.
Me: And you feel queasy.
Him: Yeah.
Me: And you drank a lot.
Him: Yeah.
Me: That’s a hangover.
Him: NO. I told you I’m NOT hungover. I just didn’t sleep and had to go to work only a few hours after drinking a lot.
Me: Yeah. That’s called a hangover.
Him: You’re so judgmental.
Me: Oh. No. Sorry… I don’t mean to seem like I’m judging. I’m not saying, “Oh, you’re hung over, you should be ashamed – how dare you show up for a date with me with a hangover.” It’s not judging. It’s perceiving. I’m just labeling the condition. More like, “Oh, that’s just a hangover.”
Him: Wow. You’re so much fun.
Me: Oh yes. Nothing but. I’m. So. Much. Fun.
(long pause)
Me: Hey. I’m cooking a whole lot of food. Do you still want me to make you lunch? Late lunch?
Him: I think I already told you I feel queasy, but sure. I’ll see what happens.
Me: I’m a good cook. You’ll feel hungry after a minute.
Him: Can we listen to Gaga?
Me: What?
Him: When we get to your house. Can we listen to Gaga?
(loooooooong pause)
Me: Sure.
…
I love Gaga.
(surprise ending: I don’t love Gaga.)
PIEFOLK 
