She’s cute. In her early twenties. Plump, sexy, energetic, vivacious. She is a fuckload of fun in bed. No doubt. As I paid for my bagel, she – on break – was chit-chatting, loudly, with the woman behind the register. “My roommate keeps using my shampoo, so today, I used hers, and I love it! It has bergamot in it! I love the smell. I don’t know what it is, but I love it.”
She and I had a brief conversation about bergamot. Not particularly interesting.
In the corner of my eye, I saw someone enter the store. The woman yelped delightedly, “Oh my God!” She leaped from her chair, ran toward the new customer. “We matched on Tinder!!!” You could almost hear the exclamation points. And then, in the awkward pause that followed, you could almost hear question marks, one after the other. Finally, meekly, “Steve???”
Let me just say, this guy would have been lucky to match on Tinder with this bundle of fun. (Well. Maybe not. Maybe she did talk a little too enthusiastically about her shampoo. But she was cute, and fun-seeming.) But the dude didn’t, at least at first or second glance, seem to be offering much. He’s not easy on the eyes. He’s not confident. He wasn’t well dressed, or charming. He didn’t seem smart.
“Damn,” I said. “That guy is an idiot.”
And I walked out.
So which of us was the bigger idiot?