Dirty Do-Gooder: Why didn’t you ever shave your head when we were dating?
RR: I suppose I could ask you the same thing about the thigh-highs you were wearing the last time we ran into each other.
DDG: first that’s a bullshit equivalence, second you didn’t answer the question, and third, how the fuck did you know I was wearing thigh highs?
RR: shall I address your points in chronological order or by degree of magnitude that they annoyed you?
DDG: Ya know, every time I start to wonder why I dumped you, you drop one of those sentences with a whole bag full of words and I don’t have to wonder any more.
RR: I know you actually love that about me so you can protest all you want… and I ‘ll just move along to your questions. You’re right, it was a false equivalence, but it tickled me to say it. Regarding the underlying query, we dated in the winter and I only shave my head during the summers and even then infrequently…
DDG: and the thigh-highs?
RR: we stopped dating, I didn’t go blind or lose my powers of observation… There was a moment at the bar when you recrossed your legs. There was just a sliver of the top band of lace that showed before you adjusted your skirt.
DDG: for the record, I never knew you had a preference for thigh-highs… not that we dated long enough for me to learn those things.
RR: also for the record, I’m calling bullshit on that. You’re too smart not to know that every straight man likes thigh-highs… if only because so few women wear them these days. And I’m pretty sure you know that because you were waiting for your date that night we saw each other at the bar. Speaking of which how did it go?
DDG: put it this way: it’s a good thing that someone noticed the stockings, because there was no way in hell he was going to see them.
RR: so what did he do that was so bad?
DDG: first he was late without calling or texting. Second, he ordered a Long Island [Iced Tea] like he was some undergrad trying to get maximum bang for the buck. And third, he actually suggested we go to Lauriol Plaza for dinner after drinks. I really blame you for the snobbery of most of that – you’re like some highly contagious elitist infection.
RR: I’ll happily take that description, but only because I know you and know that you meant it with love. So, where did you meet this clown?
DDG: OK-Harmony-Match-JDate, who even knows anymore.
RR: I hate to say it, but you do know that the only constant in your string of lame dates is you, right?
DDG: You realize that you’re among the people counted in that string of lameness, right?
RR: Touche, even though I might argue that we had great dates just different priorities and objectives.
DDG: Yeah, but I’m still calling you lame.
RR: fine, but it seems that you can’t stay away from my lameness these days. What is this, the third time in a week or so that you keep appearing in places where I am? What are you, some kind of stalker?
DDG: I prefer the term “Enthusiastic Follower” thank you very much.
RR: the really funny thing for me is that for the last ten days I keep running into women I used to date all over the place. Including you, I’ve seen a half-dozen ex’s in that time frame.
DDG: how many of them did you have to hide from?
RR: I only actively avoided two… which is probably three less than I should have.
DDG: What’s that line from When Harry Met Sally? “You’re gonna have to move back to New Jersey because you’ve slept with everybody in New York.” Maybe you need to start packing, Mr. Refugee.