A few weeks back I met a woman out at a bar through a mutual friend. At first click she seemed very friendly and warm; we quickly hit it off until I realized I was being sucked in to a vortex of loco. My first inclination that something might be off upstairs was when she told me that I had, “…nice earlobes.” Nice earlobes, huh? I asked her what about them she was so keen on and she responded with, “They’re cute because they have little fuzzies all over them.” Huh…you don’t say. Fuzzies? What the fuckidy fuck?
As if that comment alone wasn’t enough to fake an IBS attack (eh, probably not worth the charade of holding my ass and running to the bathroom – embarrassing and too much work), she couldn’t seem to stop talking about it. It was as if her brain was stuck on rewind and had to keep reliving the conversation over and over (and over!) again. “I like earlobes for some reason. They are very feminine and soft. Yah, yah, I really do like earlobes. They feel great. Uh huh, yes, my friend has great earlobes too,” and so on and so forth just like that until I had no choice but to mentally check out. I contemplated tossing my drink in her face just to get her to talk about something else.
A short while later a friend walked over which naturally moved the conversation in a different direction. My friend started talking about celebrity gossip, more specifically Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson’s lesbian shit show of a relationship. As if this conversation wasn’t painfully vapid enough, to my horror, this girl did the same exact thing with this subject as well. “Lindsay Lohan is a lesbian? I just can’t believe that, man. Dude, I just can’t believe that. Is she really a lesbian? Yah, she’s really a lesbian. Yah, yah, she has to be right? You can’t just fake something like that. Yah, yes, she’s really a lesbian…wow, I can’t believe it.” I look over at my friend to see if she’s noticed and her eyes were completely glazed over, mouth slightly open from disbelief (or a mental breakdown?). The lucky bitch’s boyfriend swung by and took her away; my only salvation gone, GONE! I silently cursed myself for being single.
I tried everything to step away from this woman. I tried pawning her off on other people; gravitating towards other groups, looking at my watch, checking my phone like I had to take a call; none of my leaving cues seemed to affect her. That bitch followed me around for a good two hours before I begrudgingly resigned myself to a night of verbal accosting.
It got to the point where if I didn’t get her away from me quickly my teeth were going to be ground down to little nubs. I had hit my breaking point. I looked her straight in the eye and said, “I’m sorry…but have you noticed that for the last two hours we’ve talked about a total of 3 topics? None of which were very interesting?” I felt bad the second after I said it but shit, how else was I going to salvage my night? I felt she needed to know what a disservice she doing to mankind (read ME)
She looked at me, clearly stung, and said, “Well, maybe if you had contributed more to the conversation I wouldn’t have had to do all the steering.” You’re right. What was I thinking? I had countless openings that I refused to take advantage of right between your ramblings about earlobes, Lohan and cheese. I turned on my heel, said good bye to friends and hailed a cab. I’m really not a rude person (most of the time) but damnit, ::cue desperately pulling out hair::
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