“His name is George,” I told Janet.
“And where’d you meet him again?”
It wasn’t that she forgot that I told her or anything. She remembered all too well in fact. She just wanted me to see how weird it was to be friends with a guy who was the very definition of my purpose. It was Mark’s purpose really, since he was the one who suggested this little experiment.
I rolled my eyes and sighed. “He was walking his dog.”
Janet scrunched her face. “I still don’t see how that relates to bagging a date.”
“Well, Mark said that guys have dogs for one of the three reasons: one, he genuinely loves dogs and-or-or pets in general; two, he actually wants a girl to come up to him and, in Mark’s words, be all ‘squealy-girl awww’ on the dog and then start a conversation with the guy; three, all of the above.” I paused for a moment to ponder, staring beyond Janet. “I think it was all of the above.”
“I can’t believe it worked.”
“I can’t believe I’m going on a third date with him.”
George was 26-years-old. He had jet black hair, and when I first met him he was wearing a jersey, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. He said he thought that the weather would be nice and that’s why his muscled arms were sprouting out like trunks of a tree. When I heard that, all I could think of was that Mark was right. Not only that, George couldn’t stop staring at my lips. Or my legs. I felt both flattered and offended at the same time, a feeling so conflicting and strange. Maybe it was just because I didn’t want Mark to be right about men. He had so much insight that was right, it was starting to freak me out. Not so much as to convert to lesbianism, but still.
“What does he look like?” Janet asked, moving her arm and eyes away from the painting she was focusing on. Her eyes fuller, seemingly more intrigued.
I smiled, thinking back. “He is very cute. Great body, great laugh, easy-going demeanour.”
Janet caught me biting my bottom lip. “But…?”
Daniel, I thought, he had dimples that reminded me of Daniel. Although, not nearly as incredible. “He smelled a bit,” I huffed a laugh, pretending to feel a little embarrassed and shy at the reason by looking down and folding into myself.
Janet rolled her eyes and then returned to the painting. “Maybe he really was hot. The jersey was good thinking apparently.”
I nodded. “Apparently.”
“Just make sure you wax,” Janet said, springing me out of my reverie.
I laughed in disbelief. “What?”
“A third date,” she said. “We all know what it’s about.” I smiled, shrugging. “Are you ready?” she asked.
Being ready was so hard to decipher. It was like a riddle of this complex concept; whether it exists or not. Can you ever be ready for anything? For pregnancy? For moving in? For having sex for the first time? For having sex in the hopes that it would help someone get over another? For now, in theory and on paper, I was ready. In practice, however, we would just have to wait and see.