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The Men of 2014

Published: December 9, 2014

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of a birthday evenly divisible by 40 is doomed. And so it was that I spent 2014 joyously blind dating.

Catch up at once! Rather than suffering through in real time, as, alas, I must:

We met at a hotel bar. No one really knows where to drink in New York; we all just want to go home. If only somebody loved us there.

Him: Have you ever tasted freshly hunted meat?

It was not the worst line I have heard. It was dead average. He was average height and average looking with a heightened desperation that mirrored my own.

I asked him about his career.

Him: I hate my work.

Such profitable avenues for conversation foreclosed, I retreated to the one safe topic left in America: politics.

Him: Israel has no business existing as a country.

The night was young and I was not.

I mulled on the beauty of the evening, how lucky I am to have a glamorous life with an important job in the best city in the stratosphere. I am the rom-com heroine of my soul.

Him: New York. It’s dirty. There’s garbage everywhere. It’s not the Grand Canyon. I mean New York. Who cares?
Me: Why are you here?
Him: I never go to Manhattan anymore, Brooklyn is awesome.

We all have our baggage. Sometimes a first date unpacks it.

Him: My ex was cheating on me, so I hacked into her computer to find out.
Me: You hacked her computer?
Him: Because she was cheating on me.
Me: But then you read her email.

The dating books say let men come to you. So I did.

Him: I really loved For All the Tea in China.

I swooned just a little.

Him: You’re just like Tina Fey without the success.
And then a little more.

Him: You’re very smart.
Me: I am.
Him: What’s it like being so smart?
Me: It’s like getting a massage. Inside my skull.

I was desperate for champagne, nature’s Prozac. I cannot be pathetic on bubbles, I am dazzling and vital and full of shoes.

Him: I feel like I am made of a thousand farts.

That made me giggle.

Him: I had no idea you would be so cool, I just thought you were hot.

’Tis a pity he’s a zygote.

Him: A week from now we can celebrate our weekiversary. I’ll make you 1/52 of a cake. When we’ve been together four years I’ll make you 208 weekiversary cakes.

I was eager to get back to my apartment, alone.

Him: This was the most fun we could possibly have with our clothes on.

The clock struck 2015. Maybe it will be my year.

 

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