II. Creamer 1-Me 0

lisiagho

by lisiagho

Story
2020 – 2022

She sighs. “When’s your date with Mr. Douche anyway?”

I fold my arms. “You don’t even know the guy.”

“Neither do you. He’s probably five inches shorter than what he says.” My sister pauses. “In all the ways.”

I raise my brows. “That’s low, even for you.”

Her phone rings again and she’s running out the door. “Text me!”

Like I’m not already going to find twelve of her messages waiting for me. I wave.

Now that Ms. Busybody is gone, I turn to my phone, surreptitiously opening the little yellow ducky app but I have no new messages. The good thing about Bubble is that women have to write first, which means less unsolicited dick pics. The bad thing is that I actually have to write first. It’s a new kind of vulnerability to put yourself out there. It makes me feel almost bad for all the times I left cheesy pickup lines on Read. Almost.

I’m not in the mood to write to anyone right now, so I go to my profile instead. My photo is of me on the beach, back when I still wore lipstick and used a curling iron on my hair. My ex took it during one of our vacations. I don’t like using a photo he took, but I do like how I look in it. Happy and carefree. Oh, who am I kidding, I like how long my legs look and how my abs are showing. I’m vain like that.

As I look at the photo, I wonder if I should listen to my sister. She’s right about the virus. But I’m lonely. And sexually frustrated. And… she’s totally getting in my head. I shake the thoughts away and scroll moodily through my list of contacts. I pause when I see my ex’s name. The selfish fucker (literally) dumped me the day before my thirty-second birthday. I’m ashamed to say that it took me a good year and a half to get over him.

Probably because we spent the first six months post break-up texting and occasionally sleeping with each other. My thumb hovers over his name before I hastily swipe it away. I’m desperate but I’m not that desperate. I don’t even know why I kept sleeping with him, considering he did little more than bury the bone.

If I’m going to risk catching a deadly virus, I need quality.

And dating apps are well-known for quality, the snide voice in my head pipes up.

Defeated, I cancel the date and order a coffee to take away.

I stifle a yawn as I stand in line to pay. I then proceed to struggle with the mini creamer. I can stab it open but I don’t want to spill it. I can open a freaking creamer. As though it were mocking me, the tiny aluminium edge only slips from between my fingers again.

I’m positive the creamer is cursed when the coffee guy comes over and opens it for me with one effortless sweep, flashing me a smile.

© lisiagho 2023-08-31

Genres
Novels & Stories
Moods
Hoffnungsvoll, Reflektierend, Lighthearted, Funny
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