One Hot Date

What’s the deal with women? Seriously, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to grasp even the most simplistic notion of their psyche.

There’s this nice girl I called to go out on a date, and she says, “Why don’t you come watch a movie at home instead?”. “It’s a great idea, I reply, and I have Netflix!” So I go to her place with Ferris Bueller’s Day Off in my left pocket and three condoms in my right pocket.

First strange phenomenon: she asks me to sit on the chair, while she alone enjoys the couch. At this point, I just think, “Well, maybe she’s just feeling awkward about asking me to sit with her.” So I start feeling awkward too. We watch the movie, and it’s a funny movie, so we share a few laughs. But honestly, I could have watched Ferris Bueller in the comfort of my own house, in my own bed, on my beautiful, brand new MacBook (yes, the black one).

After thirty minutes or so, the disc doesn’t work anymore: the movie stops for ten seconds, then goes on again, then stops again. We have to surrender to the inconvenient truth: this Netflix Ferris Bueller DVD is damaged. Believe it or not, I take it as a sign. A sign that I wasn’t here to watch a movie in the first place. I’m here to undertake serious business, and if the movie itself doesn’t want to be watched, I can only understand it as an encouragement to pursue my righteous goal.

So we start talking. We talk about everything and anything. About living in New York, about our mutual friend (my roommate), about our mutual friend’s boyfriend, who will probably never marry her even though she’s certain he will… And then, out of the blue, she goes: “You know, I’ve been so tired this week… I think this is my time to go to bed.”

I’m completely puzzled. Does she mean she wants me to leave, or is this an awkward, slash kinky invitation to try my luck? I try to think really fast about what I should say right now, but I was never good at that, so I just blurt out: “Oh, do you want me to leave?”

Now, this was the worst thing to say. I should have known (and I actually knew) that this is the one and only question you should never, ever ask a woman. Whatever they want you to do, however they feel about you or your presence in their surroundings, they will answer, 90% of the time, something along those lines: “I’m sorry, I’m so tired. But thanks for coming!”

Naturally, she had her own version of that line. They all have theirs. Truth be told, I don’t even remember. I just took the disc out of the DVD player, put my hand in my right pocket to apologize to the three unused condoms, and went to get my coat in the lobby.

Walking back home on First Avenue, I found myself wondering: what the hell is the deal with women?