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TLTL, MTIA, and Round Three (aka Baseball)… and tact.

July 20, 2014

TLTL is a veritable emotional termite. He destroys everything he touches, and he crawls out of the woodwork just when everything seems sturdy in my life.

Sturdy…right.

I will let TLTL worm his way back into my life, perhaps as a friend, but he will never, ever find himself sharing my bed again. I don’t care if he’s finally got himself a car, and I don’t care if he says he’s quit drinking.

And as for MTIA, well, hell. I might as well just start calling TLTL and MTIA both “Same Old, Same Old.” Another meeting of our sketch comedy group, and he didn’t show… nor did he bother to reply to the last email I sent.

This is all fine and good with me, though, as a girl sat down near me, and said, “Wait, are you Twig?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’ve heard of you.”

I glanced around the room, searching for the nearest exit before responding with my best nonchalant, “Oh?”

“Yeah. I’m friends with MTIA.”

Of course. I forced a smile. “Whatever you’ve heard, it’s not true.” She laughed, I laughed. “Oh, hell. Who am I kidding? It’s ALL true.” We both laughed some more. Hahaha. Haha. Ha.

People talk. I get it. But when the hell did it become acceptable for people to acknowledge this publicly to the person of interest? I guess I’m supposed to be flattered.

Maybe I’m reading this all wrong; it’s possible. But I honestly can’t think of a single friend of mine that would tell one of my exes, for better or for worse, “Oh, yes, I’ve heard of you.”

Or maybe she said, “I’ve heard about you.” I’m pretty sure there’s a semantic distinction, but in my head, they both suck. Otherwise, MTIA would have sent me an email. Or bothered to have shown up today. I put it all out of my head, though, thinking instead about my later date with Round Three, who I will now call Baseball. Guess what his favorite sport is…

We met for dinner and cabaret, and grabbed a beer afterward so we could catch the end of, yeah, a baseball game on TV. While we were talking about jigsaw puzzles at the bar, a couple in their 50s interrupted us and said, “You two are really cute together.”

We’re cute. Like fucking bunny rabbits. We’re CUTE.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation interrupted to be told that my date and I are cute together. Again, I should be flattered – and this time, I  was, and Baseball flashed me a grin – but what the hell is wrong with people? Do we all lack inner monologue these days? We weren’t touching, so it would realistically have been impossible to tell whether or not we were “together.”

It was equivalent to asking a woman, “When are you due?” when you don’t know for sure if she’s pregnant. She might just be a bit fat in the tummy. I could have been talking about jigsaw puzzles with my boss. I don’t care how adorable you think two people are. If you don’t know whether they are together, keep your mouth shut.

Baseball is, though, truly adorable. I was feeling ridiculously self-conscious about being out for a nice dinner and having not swapped out my piercings, and because my idea of “dressed up” tonight consisted of me throwing on a black cardigan over a t-shirt and jeans, then spicing up the number with a pair of green leather boots. Baseball, on the other hand, looked like he’d just gotten off a shift working at Gap. So maybe hearing that the two of us look “cute” together was really a welcome relief, however strange it was to be interrupted.

During the show, I kept sneaking glances at Baseball. He’s lovely to look at, truly. He’s so… clean cut. And. Oh my god. I forgot to pay attention to his shoes again. I even looked down at them. I know they were black. But I was so caught up in the evening that I didn’t pay attention otherwise. I’m going to go ahead and assume that they were nice because they obviously weren’t appalling. I definitely would have noticed that. And since the rest of his apparel was so well put together, it’s a safe bet to make the logical conclusion that his shoes fit the bill, too.

I could have saved myself some time with Ro had I listened to my gut regarding his shoes. He does have some nice ones, in fairness, though I was with him when he purchased two of the pairs I like. But Ro and I definitely don’t belong together as a couple. We are good friends, but not a good match romantically. I remain cautiously optimistic about Baseball, though.

Time will tell, eh? Aye.

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