Page 58 of Friendshipped
I sputter cough. No. I didn’t know that part of the body had a name. And who mentions that on a first date—or any date for that matter? I’m now fighting thoughts about holding Josh’s wenis, well technically the front of his wenis, as we walk into the restaurant.
I’m wondering if it would be too soon to feign a rash, indigestion, or Black Death. I take a calming breath.
Give the guy a break, Lexi. Dating isn’t easy.
Tell me about it.
Great. Now I’m answering my own self-talk.
My mind starts cataloging first dates as we walk into the restaurant and up to the hostess stand.
“… and then she said, ‘in the reference section.’” He bursts into a snort laugh.
I obviously had zoned out when he started the story. A story that ended in a library, I guess. For the life of me I can’t figure out what might be funny about the reference section.
We’re seated in a booth. As I sit down, Joshua moves to sit next to me. I set my purse down and claim the center of the booth, my fingers feeling instinctively for my pepper spray. He looks a little disappointed and then slides onto the bench seat across from me.
We order and Josh continues to regale me with stories of visits to the library and century rides he’s trained for. I don’t have the opportunity to talk much. Not that I really feel pressed to say anything. I’m entertaining myself by stockpiling details to share with Trevor. Minus the wenis. I can’t imagine recounting that detail and ever living it down.
Our meal arrives, smelling delicious. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so I dig right in.
My chopstick stops halfway to my mouth when Joshua announces, “I wrote you a haiku.”
“A haiku?” I ask, wondering if I heard him correctly.
“Yes. It’s a little hobby of mine,” he says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to recite Japanese poetry at dinner to a woman who’s nearly a stranger.
Before I can say anything else, he unfolds a piece of notebook paper and recites his little ditty.
Meal of Asian food.
woman holding big chopstick,
Yum! Mu gu gai pan.
I quickly shove the bite of pork and rice in my mouth and chew vigorously.
Joshua resumes eating his meal, which is, not so ironically, Mu gu gai pan. We make it through dinner without any other poetic outbursts.
After we open our fortune cookies, Joshua walks me to my car. I ponder the meaning of my fortune.What you need is within your grasp. Beyond pepper spray and the keys to my car, I’m not sensing any earth-shattering truth from my fortune.
Josh stops by my car door.
“I’ve got an end of the night haiku for you too,” he says.
“No. That’s totally not necessary.”
Really, I’m begging, praying, wondering what I did to deserve yet another bizarre date. If I believed in past lives, I’d think I might have been an accident attorney with an 800 number or one of those people who gave out homemade popcorn balls and toothbrushes at Halloween in a previous existence. My karma would be justified in that case.
Josh takes a breath, dead set on going for his poetic ending anyway, like a wild haiku rapper spitting out lines at the world’s haiku finals.
Date went very well
Standing at her car door now
Want to see me again?
A sudden urge comes over me and I lay down my own verse.
