Four Men, Four Rejections

Something I haven’t written about on here yet is a date I went on a few weeks ago with a boy who plays the guitar in the church band. We were friends for months, I developed a massive crush on him, we eventually went on a great date (in my opinion – clearly I was wrong), then he never spoke to me again.

Sunday morning Monica and I go to church. She promises not to leave me alone in case I have a run-in with The Guitarist.

When the service is over, Monica asks where the restroom is. I point to the left, she wanders off, and I turn around to see The Guitarist walking towards me.

“Long time, no see!” he says and gives me a half-assed half-hug.

I make a joke about his acoustic guitar solo sounding bad, figure it’s best to keep things light.

“Ah, I just remembered why I don’t like you. Plus, you smell,” The guitarist says as he walks away, chuckling.

Mature.

Monica returns, we leave, and she says: “Thank God we didn’t run into The Guitarist!”

Later, as the two of us schlep around SoHo, I see on Facebook that The Guitarist is brunching at a restaurant I had originally told him about, and according to the photo he posts, he is with a girl.

We cross the intersection of Houston and West Broadway and I point out the place where my ex-boyfriend and I had our first date. My bad mood is getting worse.

I decide to get a milkshake from the Mr. Softee truck. Maybe the chocolate will keep my situational depression at bay.

The ice cream man gives Monica a strawberry to eat while we wait, but he does not offer one to me.

“Even the ice cream man doesn’t like you!” Monica laughs her head off.

While she pays, I shakily try to balance my milkshake and her cone.

“Yo girl, can I get a lick of that cone before you drop it?!” A thug asks as we walk across the cross walk. I ignore him.

We get on the subway to head home, and a homeless man wearing a Harvard T-shirt stares at Monica’s bare legs. He tells Monica she has pretty skin and I laugh hysterically because she has a quarter-inch of hair on her legs.

"What’s so funny?" the bum inquires. He’s undeniably drunk.

Monica explains that I am sad because I’ve had a bad day.

"Oh. Well, I guess your skin is ok, too..." the man says.