Here's your place to come talk about sex and love whenever you feel like it.
It all started with a cat.
I used to like cats. Or I didn’t totally despise them. They can be super cute when they act like dogs.
I stopped liking cats on my second date with Jerry* (as in Springer, as in the show he totally is going to be on someday). We had made pre-dinner, “hmm this sounds tasty” chit-chat, ordered some chicken fried rice and had finally moved on to serious second dates topics like favorite TV shows, embarrassing childhood stories and oh, how his fantasy is to have sex with lots of girls at one time. Also, we talked about cats.
“I used to live with a cat,” he told me in the most awkward way possible.
“Like … you had a cat as a roommate?” I asked, totally making fun of the way in which he phrased that statement.
“Well, it was actually my wife’s cat.”
(That is the sound of me not saying anything because it was our second date and he just brought up a wife and now my jaw was on the floor. What do you say to that? Thanks for sharing about the wife, but let’s go back to the cat. Tell me, how was the cat for a roommate? Did he pick up his socks and remember to pay the cable bill on time?)
He proceeded to tell me a really long story I didn’t ask to hear. The SparkNotes version is this: He met a girl. She told him that she liked both men and women. He didn’t mind. They got married. She met a girl she wanted to hook up with. She asked for his permission to hook up with the girl, and he said she could if he could come hook up with her, too. So the three of them had lots of happy fun times together and became the best of friends and even went on a nice vacation in Michigan where they met even more girls to have happy fun times with. Then, the wife started spending more time with the girl. He got jealous. He told the wife she had to choose. She chose the girl. He was sad. He joined OkCupid. He talked to a nice girl named Abby (that’s me!). He pretended to be a very nice, normal person on their first date. On their second date, he told her this story.
“I’ve moved on, though,” he told me as he finished his sordid tale.
“When did all this happen, again?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure he had never mentioned the actual timeline of events.
“We decided to separate last night. But I’ve moved on,” he explained.
“I’m sorry, last night? As in, the night before this night?” I asked.
“Yes, last night,” he confirmed.
I have never inhaled a dinner so quickly in my life. It was sad that I had to do this because it was some very tasty chicken fried rice and I would have liked to have savored it. But you know, I had to get the hell out of there.
Don’t get me wrong; I have nothing against people who like both girls and boys, or people who are into polyamory. You do whatever floats your boat. I, however, do not really want to be on that boat.
I also have nothing against a man who is separated or divorced. I would just prefer that said separation or divorce occurred more than 24 hours before our date. Forty-eight is also a little sketchy. Eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty-two would be alright. That is probably closer to number of hours I would be okay with.
Needless to say, I did not see Jerry again. But I am looking forward to seeing him someday on television when some girl he’s dating realizes he’s also banging like five thousand other girls and is probably married to one of them. But don’t worry – he’ll be able to move on the very next day.
* Name has been changed.
Reprinted with permission from The Frisky. Want more?