We sat in the largest Whole Foods my parents had ever seen. One full city block, two floors high of health foods. A girl came by and asked where the bathroom was. I directed her. My dad commented on her cuteness. I bashfully looked away hoping that by not pointing my eyes at the situation it would make it disappear.
Then it was my turn to go to the bathroom. I got back to my father now talking up the girl whose cuteness was previously determined explaining to her that I was a prolifically performing comedian. We had started this day by having a conversation about how my inability to hold onto a relationship for more than a month was completely my fault, not the many girls who have decided that my sexual inadequacies are too numerous to overcome my comedic abilities.
Swiftly he passes off the conversation to me explaining that I have a show tomorrow and that she’s a singer and in grad school for social work (aka she’s artsy and smart H2$, aren’t you into that?). She was nice and cute and fun, but that’s barely the point.
I went to my comedy show (OF WHICH I HAVE ANOTHER ONE TONIGHT!!!!!!) and afterwards our comedy troupe was approached by nearly every one of the rest of the comedians for good classic comedy convo. That entire sentence was a lie. The other half of my comedy troupe was approached by every member of the comedy community (who just happens to be all male) and flirted with hard core. I don’t have that kind of approachability. I can’t feign that ability to approach either. I stay alone in my quiet, quite little world of thoughts that pertain mainly to how I can make a funny joke about the fact that my life is terrible.
For me to pick up a lady, I need my dad there. For my partner, she needs to be there. One of these involves a lot more planning and work. I’m lazy though, so I think I’ll stick with my self-deprecating thoughts. They involve less movement. And people. And I don’t really like people. I guess I should be happy with my lack of approachability, at least I don’t have to talk to you people.