I decided to write down the whole thing – in case I am writing memoirs when I am old and surrounded by multiple grandkids – I also thought it went funny. Tragicomedy.
(He wakes up at eight and tells me he fell asleep on the couch)
– Can I come over?
– Come over? I didn’t realise we were meeting at my place. But sure.
– I want to talk about something.
Upon arrival – he comes in, sits down at the kitchen table:
– I think I don’t want to date you anymore.
– Something is missing. I don’t want to lead you on any further. It’s unfair.
– Which is a bummer, we had a lot of fun together.
– Yes, we did.
– I have some of your stuff in the car. I’ll bring it over.
– Sure. Oh, can I get the name of your cologne?
– PAUSES. LOOKS PUZZLED. Um – my perfume?
– Yes. Yves Saint Laurent something…
– LOOKS EVEN MORE PUZZLED. STARTS LOOKING AROUND FOR A PEN. Sure. I can write it down… Or I will text it to you!
– OK. Do I owe you anything? Like any of your stuff?
Hugs me after he brings the stuff from his car. Presses his face against my neck – I push away, we say goodbye. He messages me on Monday (August 7th) – link to his perfume and apologises for not sending it earlier. I thank him. He says I am welcome.