Names changed for anonymity.
It must have been the selfie. I just hope it disgusted him because it was a selfie, not because I looked fat.
It was two summers ago. I’d biked to a Facebook friend’s day-before-my-birthday birthday party, where every year we hug and pretend I don’t mind. This year I was armed. She wouldn’t get to see my pores.
But then, vodka. Whoa, I’m sweaty. Need to wipe face. I’ll use my shirt, which is white! My makeup was smeared all over it. Hollister didn’t belong in Brooklyn anyway.
The cheapest replacement at an overpriced thrift store nearby was a bile-colored crop top with a smiley face on it. I often dress to avoid confrontation of any kind, like a male graphic designer, so this was thrilling. I texted him a picture. Haha look, I’m helplessly hot! I’m Slave Leia!
Our first date was two days before. It’s still in Google Calendar: Jason @ Habana. It’s a bad habit, recording everything, but when guys expect sex within a month, you become a historian.
That night was magical, written by Shonda Rhimes. I was on his couch and too aware of it. Oh, your family has a lake house upstate? I relate to that because I got this scar upstate! Sorry it made my face all saggy. He leaned in and said, softly, “Don’t.”
What’s more romantic than that? I see your bullshit, Hannah, and I forgive you. His gap tooth melted away. I kissed him and said, “I want to see you again, obviously.” I stole that from another guy, telling myself the gender swap was empowering.
According to Google Calendar, I was over my second disastrous OkCupid relationship. Three months single. I got drunk, reactivated my account, and “liked” dozens of people I didn’t like. Then I found Jason in my message archives. I’d sent:
I’m dating someone now, but I couldn’t just ice out One Of The Good Ones. Good luck!
He had liked it so much that he showed several friends. Being called One Of The Good Ones can have a narcotic effect on straight white men. I honestly feel bad for them sometimes.
Anyway, the selfie was a mistake. He won’t respond. I’m not Slave Leia, I’m Kim Kardashian. I don’t get a cool backstory. Fair enough. I ignore the backstories of a thousand New Yorkers every day.