Monte

It wasn’t too long ago when dating use to be fun. It was exciting to fantasize about the next person you’d meet, the next person you’d kiss, and the next person you’d sleep with. This week it could be some blonde college guy with nice arms and a farmer’s tan. Next month it could be a short latino with a gorgeous smile and big brown eyes. Spending one or two hours pampering and putting together the perfect outfit was a relaxing and enjoyable ritual. And if things didn’t work out, no problem. Just move on to the next guy: A cute Apple fanboy with a pierced lip.

But almost a year later, the thrill has worn off. The supply of suitors has dwindled, hours of pampering have been reduced to a ten-minute shower and a pair of jeans I wore the day before, and the life stories I end up retelling on the first date become shorter and a lot less interesting.

That’s the part I hate most about dating.

First we ask if the other is a native Texan and where they were born. I explain I was born in Brooklyn and moved to Texas when I was in the first grade. Then they ask how to pronounce my last name, and I playfully make them guess. When they get it wrong, I smile and correct them. Then we’ll talk about our families and pets. I explain I’m allergic to both cats and dogs, and they tell me all about their little shitsu named Sadie. From there we move on to past dates and longest relationship (but tiptoe around any deep discussion about our exes). Then we’ll talk about where we live and battle over uptown versus downtown. When dinner is over, he’ll ask why my necklace is shaped like a chili pepper, and I’ll indulge him with a laugh and explain it’s really a “cornicello” or “small horn,” and it’s an Italian good luck charm that my grandfather wore. The waitress will ask if we’ve saved room for desert, and I’ll say, “I’m so full I’d have to put it in my pocket and take it with me.” Hilarious. And the evening will close with, “I had a nice time,” and “Drive safe.” Hug.

It’s enough to make a person a sick.

I wasn’t upset when Chris told me this afternoon that he only saw us as friends—I appreciated his honesty. I’m just tired of telling strangers the same stories.