Page 22 of A Lot to Unpack
‘Why not,’ I reply with a smile. ‘My dealbreakers are just, you know, the usual stuff.’
‘Like what?’ he asks.
I let the waitress place our drinks on the table before I carry on talking. I take a generous gulp of my Sex on the Beach, buying myself a little time to think about what I’m going to say.
‘Just… no liars, no cheaters. I like people who are kind and polite,’ I say, pausing again. ‘I’m generally quite open to most people.’
Until that inevitable ick kicks in, of course. Perhaps tonight it won’t happen?
‘Kind of a cop-out answer, but okay,’ he says before swigging his beer. ‘I’m glad you like honesty, because I’m the kind of bloke who speaks his mind, who says what he thinks, whether people want to hear it or not.’
That’s a red flag, right there. People tend to use ‘speaking their mind’ as a euphemism for being a bit of a dick.
‘I can’t cook, so I tend not to fancy lasses who can’t cook,’ he continues. ‘No modern women.’
‘No modern women?’ I repeat back to him.
‘No parrots either,’ he jokes.
‘Sorry, I’ve got to know what a modern woman is,’ I say, laughing as I say the words.
‘I mean that because I don’t cook, I don’t clean and so on, so I need a lass that will do those things for me really,’ he explains in a tone of voice that suggests I must now fully understand and agree with him.
‘I see,’ is about all I can say.
‘And no emotional women,’ he adds. ‘I can turn a blind eye one week of the month but, beyond that, I’ve no time for drama.’
And there it is, my ‘ick alarm’, sounding loud and clear.
Do you think I could get away with murdering him, out here, in the dark of night? Would anyone even miss him? Is there a jury in the world that would convict me? If I got a female judge, she’d probably give me a high-five.
‘I’m really emotional,’ I tell him plainly. I don’t suppose I’m any more or less emotional than the next girl, no matter what week of the month it is, but I think we’re done here. ‘And really modern.’
‘You don’t seem all that modern,’ he replies, his eyes narrowing.
My main takeaway from that is that he has no issues believing I’m emotional.
‘Looks can be deceiving,’ I tell him. ‘I can’t cook, I refuse to clean, I basically never shave my legs and even my vibrator has a vibrator.’
Woody sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as he thinks for a moment.
‘You’re taking the piss out of me, aren’t you?’ he replies.
‘Well, now you’re going to make me cry,’ I say as I pull a silly face, like a baby about to scream.
‘Okay, Liberty, let me say first of all that this behaviour isn’t mature or ladylike,’ he informs me as he stands up from hisstool. He picks up his beer bottle and drains the last of the contents into his mouth. ‘Like I said, I hate timewasters. We’re clearly not meant to be, so I think I’m going to go.’
He does seem genuinely annoyed at me, which gets my back up a little.
‘Oh, no, now I’mreallygoing to cry,’ I say sarcastically.
‘I hope you find what you’re looking for,’ he says simply before leaving me.
I’d say I hoped he found the non-emotional non-modern woman of his dreams but I think she might be just that, a fantasy, nothing he’s going to find with his eyes open.
I finish my drink and, as I do so, I realise that Woody has left me to pay the bill. Unbelievable.
What do I do now? I don’t want to go back to my gran and grandad’s, not yet – oh, shit. Tom. I’m supposed to be meeting him soon, at the pub. I was going to go and tell him that I couldn’t stay but, I don’t know, with Woody being a bust, maybe I could have one drink with him? It beats going home early, and it definitely beats hanging out with Woody.
