(Continuation of This Optimistic Guy)
Except instead of a home-cooked meal on the table, it’s take-out chinese on the table. And instead of two glasses on the table, it’s one glass on the table. But it’s not really a glass on the table, it’s a solo cup filled with wine on the table. And it’s not a table. It’s a foot stool.
This is New York, guys.
That moment when you’re texting with the guy you went out with last week, and he keeps referencing things you talked about, but you don’t remember any of them because you were WAY too drunk.
Guys, this really weird thing happened where I went on a date last night, had a nice time, and then I heard from him TODAY. Not a week later, not EXACTLY 3 days later, not by accident because he meant to text a different Emily, not the next time he was drunk/stoned/watching porn. The NEXT day. Sober. While the sun was still up.
What do you think that means?
Oh, that he’s a mature 30-something male in Manhattan?
Well. This is new.
(Continuation of Last Night’s Date, Part 4 )
Oh. He’s still talking.