Lover's Revenge
In the last two and a half years, I have gone on approximately ten dates with a margin of error of two. Meanwhile, there are 214,000 people in Richmond. Statistically speaking, the odds that I would run into one of these people ever again is less than 0.01%. That may be a little biased since the people I would go on a date with probably have hobbies that overlap with mine, but you get the point.
Now I have run into people who I have matched with on a dating app before. But that’s a different probability game. There’s a lot more of those. I recklessly swipe right. I don’t recklessly show up to dates because that’s expensive. But only twice can I recount running into someone who I matched with, but we never met. Of course, I’m not great with faces, so this might happen more frequently than I recognize.
However, I have run into ex-dates THREE TIMES. What are the odds?!
Two of the three encounters really aren’t worth detailing (but watch me detail it). One is a woman who asked me out and I honestly can’t remember her name, but we pass each other in the Fan all the time. I can’t even tell if she recognizes me. I wasn’t positive it was her the first time we passed by, but now I am 99% confident it is her. She also must have returned to school recently, because I bumped into her at the VCU gym last week. I didn’t say anything.
The second girl I grabbed coffee with two years ago the week of Valentine’s. I know, right. I am a walking cliché. Anyhow, I passed by her on the Carytown sidewalk on a Friday night not so long ago. We were both alone. We looked at each other. She did not look so approachable. I said nothing.
Which all this brings us to the third girl who is the reason I am writing this blog post. You may remember my dalliance from this summer where I went on a date with a girl who I cyber-stalked beforehand. It turned out she had done the Peace Corps because her Facebook all but listed her social security number. I showed up, eager for details on how I, too, could volunteer for the Peace Corps, but unwilling to admit I stalked her. I just mentioned I wanted to join the Peace Corps and asked why was she studying nursing. She gave some lame answer, did not hint she had ever been part of the Peace Corps, let alone her profile picture was her hugging African children and her last job was teaching English as a second language. I decided she was a liar, and we never saw each other again. Until last week.
The backstory is, I was standing in the lobby of a popular spot at my university seeking signatures for a petition. The petition is beside the point except I was very passionate about it and I needed signatures.
Lo and behold, through the sliding glass doors, in walks the Liar. I instantly recognize her. I thought I spotted her several months ago on campus, but wasn’t sure and didn’t think much of it.
The Liar obviously sees me, but her face doesn’t immediately read anything. Meanwhile, the fact we went on a failed date means little to me. Her signature means much more. So I pounce. I walk straight up to her, smile, and begin to say, “Hey, have you heard—”
And that is when the Liar HOLDS HER HAND UP AND BLOCKS HER FACE. YES, SHE TRIES TO BLOCK ME FROM VIEW AND PRETEND SHE DOESN’T SEE ME. WHAT. NO, LIAR, YOU ARE NOT ABOUT TO DO THAT.
Okay, people, I really did not have that much rage, but I was hell-bent on getting a signature because she was the only one around and, sure, I could have just skipped over her, but who cares that we went on a date? I’m just asking for her signature. I’m not asking her out again.
Well, apparently, she cared BECAUSE SHE HID HER FACE.
I was so shocked at her reaction that I barreled ahead.
“Excuse me?” I said. “Have you heard about this petition? I’m trying to get two hundred signatures by the end of the day, and I would really appreciate if you—”
Yes, ladies, gentlemen, and everyone on the gender spectrum: I pretended I didn’t know her. I did not acknowledge our history. I did not acknowledge her hiding her face (how childish!!!). I just asked for her signature.
“Um,” she interrupted me.
“I would really appreciate if you could take a moment to sign,” I continued. “I can explain why I’m a fan of this legislation.”
“Can I sign after I get lunch?” she asked. She indicated the cafeteria behind us.
“Sure.” I paused. “Sure!” I said with more gusto. “I’ll be here for another hour.”
Of course, you all know she didn’t come back. Someone who hides their face isn’t going to come back to give me a signature.
For a bit, I wondered what about me or our date was so traumatic that she had to hide her face. I mean, seriously. I think I even paid. We didn’t kiss. I don’t think we even hugged (because that would have traumatized me). Maybe she was embarrassed by what she was wearing. Her attire did look frumpier than it did back in July.
But eventually I forgot about it and her and blocked her from mind just like she blocked me from view. And that’s the best revenge.
If you liked this, then you may like:
The Hoo and the Whoozie: What a Doozy