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May 26, 2015
According to sources who wish to remain anonymous, everything was set up perfectly for Julia Meyer’s date last Saturday. There were candles on the table, she was wearing her favorite light blue dress, and she had brought two condoms in her purse just in case. It was sureure to be a wonderful evening —complete with romance, nervous giggling, and maybe even love. Nothing could have ruined Julia’s night, except perhaps for her date, twenty-eight-year-old baseball enthusiast and lead bassist Danny Welker.
For a while, it was all was going just as Julia had imagined it. She arrived at the restaurant— —an authentic Italian eatery her cousin had recommended— —six minutes early. She was seated at a small table near the back, quiet and out of the way of the main seating area. The waiter, an older woman who, while not wholly displeasing to look at, was far less attractive than Julia, brought a tray of freshly baked bruschetta, and a saucer of olive oil and balsamic vinaigrette.
The ambient music, a samplinge of classical Italian arias, was soft and unobtrusive. The lighting was dim, but not dark. The room was not empty, but the closest people were three tables away, a couple in their thirties quietly discussing contemporary politics and the prospect of marriage.
Julia was calm, relaxed, and hopeful for the future. She wasn’t sweaty or nervous, nor bored or apprehensive. She was enjoying her situation and the world around her, perfectly content to be herself in that exact place and time. For fourteen minutes, Julia was happy.
Then, late and underdressed, Welker walked inentered. Although Julia had texted him her relative location inside the restaurant, Welker insisted on lowas for some reason compelled to look okingin every direction before finally spotting Julia in the corner. He proceeded to make his way over to the table, but not before texting Julia “on my way” in the same time it would have taken him to just walk over.
Julia, Ggreeted with a wet erfamiliakiss on the cheek, Julia remained seated as Welker took his place. “Sup, babe,” Welker said, was the first of many intolerable utterances that Walkerhe would emit duringover the course of the meal from between his would be emittedfrom Welker’s undoubtedly unbrushed mouthteeth. His buttoned shirt was untucked. His greasy hair was uncombed.
The conversation ranged from movies Julia had not seen to sports about which Julia did not care about. Welker’s affectionateloving jabs at Julia’s relative indifference to pop culture were less lovinaffectionateg than jabby. He spoke with his mouth full. He ate all the bread.
Julia’s date would have been perfect, sources report, were it not for her date. Perhaps, had Danny misread the calendar or gotten inbeen sidetracked by a fatal car accident, Julia’s date would have gone differently. At press time, however, Julia had returned to her apartment alone, the condoms unused, a pint of Ben and Jerry’s waiting for her in the freezer.
