For reasons not worth going into, my mom and one of her co-workers set me up on a blind date, with the co-worker's daughter. To them, this is immensely funny. The whole office knows about it; it's a big joke. When I contemplated whether I should go or not, my friends urged me to. "It's better than anything you've got going on right now." You're desperate, right? Mom, are you serious? "I think you're nice, I think she's nice." Everyone's nice, that doesn't mean it's a good match. She was nice, so am I.
Desperation makes for bad choices; I've proved this, others have proved this. "Here's her number." Going on a blind date was easier than talking to my mom about it. What makes this girl different from the ones I've found myself really attracted to? My inner self responds: "Well, the one's you've been attracted to were special. Different." Everyone's special, everyone's different, the psychologists tell us so. After a six hour drive to Saskatchewan, why is the first thing my grandmother said "No girlfriend this time?" I don't have a biological clock, there's no excuse for desperation. At some point the line between desperation and desire blurs and I'm afraid of both sides. Really really afraid.
I don't understand the difference between friends and girlfriends; besides sex, is there one? Everyone's waiting for a good story: we clicked, we're dating, we split up, we're happy, we're sad. Both sad, because I'm sure we both wished maybe something would happen, but honesty kills. I didn't go because my friends wanted me to, I went because I did, and that is even more sad. Nothing happened; also sad. Just think, afterwards, we can all have a big laugh. What are we laughing at?