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.)

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