Wesley’s accusations about sex hurt deeply. I long for intimacy, but with the right man in a meaningful relationship at the right time. There’s is no way I can ever hop in the sack with just any guy because I haven’t had sex in a long time. I’m not that kind of person.
His accusations about lying are correct, though. I did lie and look where it got me: riding home on a bus from a disastrous date. Plus I can never eat at Yummy’s again without wanting to vomit in disgust in memory of him.
Why can’t men see what a great person I am? Why can’t they see past the fat to the real me? I may be overweight and desperate enough to fudge the truth a little on my profile in order to meet men, but it’s not fair for them to think I’m fat and desperate.” I exhale loudly and grind my teeth.
Little Old Lady looks nervous and tries to hug the wall even more to get away from me.
Who needs men anyway? They want one thing and they don’t really care about women as people with feelings and thoughts and ideas. Just look at how Sands is treated by the bums at the gym. I take a deep breath, pressing Little Old Lady farther into the wall, and exhale. I hate men. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for Tiresa stealing Mika from me. And if Mika loved me unconditionally, he wouldn’t have minded my weight. Men are just horny idiots who only care about supermodel looks instead of the things which really count about a person. And if my friends really cared about me, Riyaan wouldn’t have suggested online dating and Sands would have made more of an effort to stop me from doing it or even going on this stupid date. Nobody cares for me except Pa. It’s me against the world and I am the loser.
Much to Little Old Lady’s relief, mine is the next stop. I get off and shuffle five blocks home, wallowing in misery and not wanting to work up a sweat walking, which I can only accomplish by moving like a turtle.
I hadn’t left any lights onto save on the electric bill, so my cottage home looks asleep when I reach it, a dark welcome to my dark mood. It is devoid of life, rather like me, with Abe and Fi gone to their dad’s for the weekend.
I walk through the door, drop my purse and key on the small table next to it, and head straight for the kitchen. A bottle of chocolate vodka waits for me in the cupboard. I pass over the shot glass and grab a tumbler instead. This was my kinda of date: sweet, strong and affects me all over. No insults, no cell phone; just some one-on-one time.
I drop onto the sofa and drink until I feel emotionally numb from the night’s events. But I also come to the realization that no one loves me and no one will ever love me. So what did I have to live for? More disastrous dates? More ill-conceived advice from supposed well-meaning friends? Demands from family to make nice and not rock the boat?