LAID

This one was a study in dialogue.  An author and good friend of mine, Mike Poore ("Up Jumps The Devil"  - Ecco Books) has this "thing" about unnecessary embellishments to written conversation.  We had more than a few disagreements on that notion.   I really miss our late--night discussions over a bottle of JD.

“So, what happened?  Did you get laid?”

“Are you kidding?  I’m a nice guy!”

“So?”

“Hon, in the real world, nice guys finish last.  They always finish last.  It’s the assholes that get the girl.”

“That’s not true!”

“Yeah, right,” I snorted.  “You see how far it got me!”

“Sometimes you have to give things time to develop.”

“Who knows when I’ll see her again?”

“If she likes you, you’ll see her again,” she said confidently.

“If!  IF!  IF I see her again!”

“You will!”

“Yeah, right.  Nice guys finish last. I tell ya.  I hit it off really well with a babe last year.  I see her again this year and she’s got a boyfriend.  And he treats her like shit.  So, I’m through being a nice guy!”

“How were you a nice guy this time?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, so I held her and talked to her.  She fell asleep against my shoulder while we sat in front of the fire.”

“That was sweet!”

“Yeah?  Didn’t get me anywhere.”

“You probably impressed her!”

“Yeah.  So now we’re best buddies!  Big woot!”

“Well, were you expecting to get laid?”

“No, I never go visit anyone with expectations.  That way I’m always pleasantly surprised when something good happens.  But nothing good happened.”

“I thought you said she fell asleep against your shoulder?”

“So the fuck what?”

“That was sweet!  It was romantic.”

“Fuck romance.”

“What is your problem?”

“God damn it, I went there to get laid!”

“But you said you always go visit people without any expectations.”

“That’s right!  It’s a self-defense mechanism so that I don’t get hurt!”

“But you’re hurt now!”

“Not as much as I would have been if I’d been expecting to get laid and didn’t.”

“I don’t understand you.  You said you went there not expecting to get laid, but now you’re pissed because you didn’t get laid, but you say that by not expecting to get laid that it’s a defense mechanism against being hurt by not getting laid, but you’re hurt now because you didn’t get laid!”

“That’s about it.”

“Arrrgh!” she growled, frustrated, “If you didn’t want to get hurt, why did you go there at all?”

“Because if you don’t take chances, you can’t win!”

“Have you won yet?”

“Not yet, but at least I know I tried!”

She began laughing.  “You are such an enigma!”

“What do you mean, enigma?  I’m easy to figure out.  I’m a nice guy.  I don’t press the issue.  I’m a fuckin’ gentleman.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Jesus, don’t you listen?  It doesn’t fuckin’ get you laid!”

“So, now you’re not going to be a gentleman anymore?”

“Nope.  I’m gonna be a class-one asshole.”

“Well, you’ve made a good start!” she said angrily, putting her stuff into her purse, then asking me the same question she asks each time. 

“Are you picking up the check?”

“If I do, will you come home with me and fuck me?”

“No.”

“Then you pay for the goddamned cake and coffee!”

She looked at me, open-mouthed for at least a full minute.  “Fuck you!”

“Yep, that’s exactly what I want.”

“GRRRRRR!  Oh, alright!  Pay the check and I’ll come back home with you and fuck you.  Maybe it’ll put you in a better mood!”

“Nope.  Too late.”

“To late?”

“Yep!  I’m no longer interested!”

“I don’t believe you just said that!  You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Yep.  It’s what I’m shooting for.”

“Fuck you!”

“Will you?”

“Not now!”

“A moment ago, you said you would!”

“You told me you weren’t interested!”

“I said that to be an asshole!”

“Well, you’ve definitely made it!”  She threw some money on the table.

“So, I can’t take you home?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Assholes don’t get laid either!”