Last night, at the mancino show, B came with me. As I think you all know, if the last 10 years of my life have generated one sincere, profound regret, it’s that I never made a concerted attempt to go after this one particular girl. Even seeing her name in print stirs my soul. So she came to the mancino show. I shouldn’t have been there. I’m at work now, trying to convince myself I can do in the next five hours what I should have been doing all last night and all today. But she consented to go with me to the mancino show so I fucked off from work and went.
Stomach-plummeting thoughts of the work I should have been doing and how I was going to deal with not having done it plagued me all the while. We met some complete randoms and went with them to a bar next door after the show. At some point she started kind of leaning against me and grabbing my hand. I couldn’t believe it. Soon we were making out outside of the bar. I still couldn’t believe it. She was a fantastic kisser.
She said “how bad do I want you?” I couldn’t tell if it was a real question, as if she was considering what to do, or rhetorical as in “how awesome is this quiche?!”
To avoid addressing this ambiguity I said “badly, not bad, it’s a fucking adverb.”
We got into a cab and went to my place, kissing frenetically in the back seat the entire way. In no time we were in the door, on the bed, her clothes came off – she was far more beautiful than I ever imagined. All signs pointed to yes. It felt amazing just to hold her in my arms. I, simply, could not believe it.
And then, my reliable friend of 32 years, my staunchest comrade, my right-hand man, revealed himself as the vile worm that he is. I was betrayed, left adrift in a storm. A genie had come to grant the wishes I had made on probably the last 3 birthday cakes I’ve blown out, all I had to do was give it a name. Speak son, said the genie, speak and all will be yours. But my spokesman was mute, and no amount of cajoling could unbind his cowardly tongue.
I remember not more than 3 weeks ago vaunting to three of you, how such failures of manhood have never happened to me, save once in Poland when I was blind drunk, and once when I was blind steezed. I would like to say “so you can imagine my dismay,” but there is simply no way you can imagine my dismay. I suppose it’s a fittingly comic thing to have happened, all in all, but it is a memory that I wish now to only excise from my brain like a knotty tumor, before it begins to impair my motor function.