Sometimes life gives you lemons. Lemonwise, 2012 was not a great year for me. My mother was undergoing treatment for ovarian cancer, my brain still went sour at the thought of Guy #96 and I had to work as a telemarketer to make ends meet. Dating at the time was an escape.
The same was probably true for Guy #110. His mother had recently died from a brain tumor and his father was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. Eating lemons was all we talked about on our first date.
Our first date took place at Guy #110’s apartment. He had made me dinner, the dessert of which was us making out on his couch. It was a make-out session during which we talked about the horror of having to see your parents lose their strength in front of your very eyes, the way life can wreak havoc on what you wanted life to be and how telemarketing has got to be the leading cause of suicide, because nothing kills you more than having to sell your soul over the phone 40 hours a week when one of your parents is fighting death itself. Sometimes it’s nice to dwell on the negative, to be with someone who doesn’t go into Oprah-mode the moment you say life sucks. Our first date was very romantic indeed.
We traded underwear on our second date.
Apparently underwear trade signifies the start of a commitment in the gay scene, at least it did to Guy #110. The last Guy to have ever worn my underwear had been Guy #8 and he turned out to be a possessive stalker, so I can’t see I felt totally at ease in my new wardrobe.
I guess what I liked most about Guy #110 was the fact his life was more messed up than mine. He was the Oscar to my Elmo.
It was around the time Guy #110 put on my underwear I realized human misery was what connected us more than anything else. On our third date I remembered why we had hooked up in the first place: To sugarcoat our lemons. Guy #110 was friendly, warmhearted and funny enough to at least laugh at my jokes, but he wasn’t a fruit of his own kind.
After our third date he told me he was looking forward to our fourth. I said I’d send him a message on Facebook to initiate it, but then somehow ended up never doing it, and he somehow never reminded me.
My guess is Guy #110 was a bit offended, but that he was used to being let down in life. I imagine he regretted ever giving me his underwear, but that it was far from the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
I did feel a bit guilty over quietly forgetting about Guy #110, believing I had added another pinch of misery to his life.
I guess grief doesn’t make for great relationships.