Page 95 of It's Not PMS, It's You

I shook his hand. “You, too.”

I agreed that time flew when you were having fun, but there was nothing fun about the time I had just spent with Gustav. He was kind and a gentleman, there was no doubt about that. He was also well-organized and probably the sanest man of all my dates by far. But what had happened between us really didn’t feel like a three-minute date.

We met.

I reviewed his document.

And then he left.

It felt more like I was working.

And what was fun about that?

Nothing at all, that’s what.

“Mark your score cards!” the host said. “Guys, it’s time to move to your next date!”

I stared at the blank box where I was supposed to say if I wanted to get Gustav’s contact information, contemplating what to do.

In the end, I had to be honest with myself.

I left it blank.

“Okay, men!” the host added. “Same thing as last time, please move to the next table on your right and enjoy your next date! I hope you’re all getting the hang of this now!”

Here we go.

Date number three.

Just seventeen more to go.

That is, if I made it through all of them.

I was feeling less motivated about this event, plus I was starving. I was pretty sure I was going to bail on this if I didn’t meet a candidate with a lot of potential soon. Especially if I kept smelling the fajitas on the sizzling platters.

I took another swig of my beer and set the bottle down, glancing over as the next man approached my table.

“Looks like I just hit the proverbial jackpot,” he said, his eyes wide as he sat down in front of me. “I’m Boyd andyouare Reth. I love your name. It’s just like Macbeth, only completely different.”

“You lost me there.”

He slapped the table. “Good! Just trying to keep you on your toes. That’s a man’s job. Anyway, I’m a certified alligator handler whose passions include foraging for wild mushrooms, collecting original comic book art from the Silver Age of Marvel fandom, and most importantly and most recently, I’m abigfan of William Shakespeare. What a wordsmith that man is.”

“Was.”

“Right. Was. The guy’s dead. I love words myself in case you’re wondering.”

I’m not.

“I’m proud of my impeccable locution, do you know what I mean?”

“I don’t.”

“I’m still keeping you guessing! That’s a man’s job, to extrapolate, to satiate, and to—”

“Vacate? Now’s the time. Make a run for it.”

He slapped the table again and laughed. “Good one! You’re hilarious.”