tagNon-EroticMy-sogyny Ch. 02

My-sogyny Ch. 02

byAgni©

My-sogyny: Part II - The Date

"You think a lot." She said, matter of factly. Her blue yes were pretty, but vacant, like that punk rock song.

"Isn't that what people do?" I asked.

"Not like you do." She stared at me. I stared back. Who was this woman? Some nameless broad I met in some nameless bar? Was she my wife? A girlfriend? No, not even that. She was just a girl. A companion for the evening, nothing more, probably much less. No need to explain the complexities of my thought processes to her. No need to explain what I thought about the nature of reality. None of that mattered to her.

What did matter to her then? I resigned my self to trying to take another look at her. Try to give her the benefit of the doubt. Try to figure out what she WAS interested it. What she DID think about.

I took a sip of my drink and lit a cigarette. It was a way for me to occupy myself, with out making eye contact.

"What do you think about?" I asked finally. She looked shocked, stunned even. As if I had asked her what color panties she'd had on or if she spits or swallows.

"What do you think about?" I repeated, trying to break through her disbelief.

"Lotsa things..." She started to say. I looked at her fingernails as she reached for her Malibu and Pineapple Juice. Not Rum and pineapple. Malibu. Christ! Sorority-girl bullshit. For prissy women that are too ashamed to admit they actually want to get drunk and fuck. It was an excuse drink. They can drink three of them and act like they are drunk. No no, I never would have sucked his dick in the bathroom if I hadn't been so wasted.

I decided to press her for what she did indeed think about.

"Like what?"

"Um..."

"You must certainly think about your finger nails." I commented absently.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, they are manicured to near perfection." I told her matter of factly. She seemed to be upset that I'd said near. "Do you do them your self?"

"NO! I go to Mario Tricocci." She said excitedly, but a little contemptuously. As if I should have known where she had her nails done by the shine of them.

"I see." I didn't really. Not at all. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate beauty, and a woman who takes care of herself. But the void in this girl's head was astounding. If she spent half as much time thinking as she did fussing with her nails, she'd be an astrophysicist. I've decided this whole operation is a bust, so I might as well have fun with it.

"Do you know any interesting trivia?" I ask her innocently.

"Some. I know the names of all the boys in N'Sync." She smiles.

"Wow." I say as evenly as I can, suppressing a gag.

"What about you?" She asks, sipping her Malibu.

"Well, did you know only one in five men wash their hands in the rest room?"

She stares at me. I pounce.

"It's true. After the third beer, most men barely even bother pissing in the urinals. In fact, that lack of hand washing is the number one reason for yeast infections in women." She stares at me. I stand.

"I gotta use the rest room, if the waitress comes by, order me a beer huh?" I say, gesturing the to the two empty bottles on our table. I walk away, snickering.

In the rest room, I find a guy sniffing coke in the mirror, talking on his cell phone.

"Yeah," sniff "all I can say is thank god for trust funds." He says. Part of me wants to slam him against the mirror and pretend I'm a cop. You know, shake him down, take his coke, maybe even his wallet. What's he going to do? Call the cops and say someone took his coke? Not if I take his fucking cell phone too.

The part of me that just wants to piss wins out, and I go stand in from of the urinal. As I piss, I listen in to his conversation.

"Yeah, I finished the painting. No, man. That last batch we baked just knocked me out." I roll my eyes as hard as I can, and finish up. I have to push him aside to wash my hands before I return to my date.

I find her sitting where I left her, looking somewhat lost. I decide to press my luck. I reach out and grab her hands.

"Your nails are nice." I say, being sure to run my fingers all over hers.

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