One time on Valentine’s Day, I got my girly on, and wore an adorable little skirt, and a pink and white striped sweater, with a fake fur jacket, and got my hair and nails all did, and was super excited to go out to a fancy dinner. I had no idea where we were headed but Jeff’s “I got this” face was enough to make me all bouncy in the cab on the way.
He took me to Peter Luger’s. Possibly one of the best steak houses in the country, but it was filled with old men, and we had to sit at a picnic table…on benches.
Oh! And I cried.
The look on Jeff’s face after we were seated was a cross between complete confusion and sheer terror. “Are you OK?” he leaned in and asked me carefully.
I did my best to compose myself and then looked him dead in the eyes. “It’s like…do you even know me at all?” I whispered harshly.
In my defense, I was an asshole.
God speed to you men out there today. God speed.