"M" is for "My Bad"

For fourteen years, she had lived a monotonous, married life, with a man she refused to fuck unless she could picture, of all people, Mel. That was until he decided he didn't like her "type". "Sure he was drunk when he said it but isn't that when the truth really come out?", she thought as she drifted back to sleep.

Minutes later she awoke with a start. "Dammit", she yelled, as she took a look at the clock on the side of her bed. She had twenty minutes to get ready for her date. She needed to shower, shave, get dressed, put on her make-up, walk the dog and check out the guy's profile just ONE. MORE. TIME.

"Actually," she thought, "I don't have to shave. It's not like he's gonna know because there is no way I'm sleeping with him on the first date, right?", she asked herself, ultimately ignoring her own question. This was because she knew inside if he was good looking she would likely have to have sex with him. She'd been single long enough to know that finding a man you wanted to sleep with in New York City was like a one bedroom apartment for less than $2000.00 a month. A rarity and criminal if you were to ignore it.

She quickly hopped out of bed. Not for the first time, she sat down in front of her computer with her nose pressed against the screen as she tried to look at her date's face from every different angle even though he'd only posted one photo of the left side of his body. "Well", she thought, "he clearly has at least one arm, his cheek is blemish free and his eye is a beautiful greyish-blue.

"All really good signs", she reminded herself. She'd been reading the book, "The Secret" every night before bed and knew how important it was to stay positive if she had any chance of actually getting what she wanted out of life.

By the time she'd turned on the water in the shower, she was back to her old self, reminding the rest of her conscience that "The Secret" was a bunch of bullshit and she knew that this date would in pretty much suck like all the others.

As she rinsed the conditioner out of her hair, she practiced her "speech" yet again. "I"m sorry, I'm just not feeling the chemistry." Smile, look down, try to blush if you can. That was the dance she did every time as she had yet to meet anyone she wanted to know longer than it took for her to order her decaf cappuccino, extra foam, please.

She parked her car and headed towards the cafe. From across the busy thoroughfare she saw him. Her hear sank, "Oh my God, it's Curious George," she thought. Not literally, of course but the closest a human being could be to looking just like him.

Unfortunately, she could see him waving to her, clearly indicating that he had seen her as well. She could feel the words begin to form in her mouth, "I"m just not feeling the..." and then suddenly, without warning she yelled out to him, "I'm sorry! You can go now! I'm good!" With both arms raised, hands waving simultaneously like a lunatic trying to hail a moving cab, she began to walk backwards towards her car, continually yelling, I'm really sorry! Goodnight! Sorry! Really! Bye!"

And then,

she was flat on her back, pain ricocheting through every part of her head. As she lay there, staring up at the cloudless night sky, she could hear people asking her if she were okay. However, she was now too busy trying to spot the big dipper to answer them.

Suddenly, she felt someone's breath on her face. The person began stroking her forehead. It was a man, telling her not to move, that they had called an ambulance and that he would stay until they came. "I'm fine", she insisted. "No, you're not," he said. "You're bleeding and you need to see a doctor." As she reached her arm back to touch the back of her head, she suddenly got a look at the man's face realized it was her date, "George". At this point, she was pretty sure she had stopped bleeding as whatever blood was left in her body had now rushed to her face. "Had he heard what's she'd said?", she wondered. "Oh God, I'm so horrible," she thought, "this poor guy." "I really appreciate you helping me like this," she said. "Of course," he responded, "I'm just not going to walk away, you're my date," he chuckled.

"God, I"m such a bitch", she thought.