cringe y/n story

my life.

"Hi, I'm y/n and I don't really have alot to say. Let's start with my hobbies I guess. I like to do embroidery, sewing, knitting," you fiddle with you're thumbs as you begin to feel embarrassed, "yeah yeah, I know, very boring grandma hobbies." You give a chuckle that comes off more akward than you'd like. "Ummm let's see..... Oh! I'm planning to go to Colorado for the weekend, and I like to bake." You stare in the eyes of the person sitting across from you. They look back into you'res, a smile slowly creeping on their face.

"Wow, did I make you that nervous haha." You laugh. Or did you force yourself to? You come back into reality and take in your surroundings, again. A dimly light bar, jazz playing low on the speakers over head, the smell of booze and cigarette smoke fill your nose along with the overpowering smell of your dates cheap cologne.

He told you he knew somewhere, "off beat, and totally indie." apparently going to some jazz bar is so indie and quirky. You know for a fact he's never been here and that he doesn't shoot whiskey. But he tries to convince you otherwise by ordering it and reassures you "it tastes like soda" yet hasn't done so much as smell it. Not that it matters what you drink. He reeks of fragile masculinity, or is that his breathe?

"Sorry, I'm nervous, I haven't been on a date in a while." You lie. You went out the other night with another tinder date. A man of course because the thought of even being close to a woman scares you.

"Oh it's fine baby doll," disgusting, you think. "I promise I'll be patient with you." He winks, showing off his yellow smoke stained teeth.

You're sure that was supposed to be seductive, but it came off as more.... What's the word? Perverted.

'I don't wanna be here.' you think. 'god he smells like a gas station bathroom.'
"So, what do you do for a living?" You sip more of your drink, something pink and fruity so he feels more like a 'man'. He talks about how great of a job he has as... Something. You stopped listening and wandered off into a daze halfway through because Jesus Christ he's annoying.

Some drinks and one sided conversations later, you end up driving him to his apartment because he doesn't know his limit. You had to drag him up the stairs because, surprise, surprise, the elevator broke. Finally you make it to his apartment, open his door with his keys and throw him, not gently might I add, onto his couch. You're not supprised his place is a mess.

"Might as well see what he has to drink." Tonight you were supposed to have a nice night, get a little tipsy and make memories with someone new. Someone different. Someone who isn't her....

Stop.

You're not supposed to think of her.

You stop yourself from thinking of those thoughts. The ones you know will never happen. The ones that can't happen. 'God my head hurts' you think to yourself. You wish you had some cheap booze at home, but you drank it all the other night when you got that text. It was just a single word, yet it caused you so much pain. You wonder how you got yourself into such a predicament.

You find your way to a case of michelob ultras. 'He would drink this.' You close his fridge door and settle on just taking his bread, 'i needed some anyways.'

feeling defeated, you walk downstairs, into your car and drive back to your apartment where you cry and cry and cry all night because you can't have the girl of your dreams and nothing works out for you because no, you aren't the main character.

You don't get the girl and you don't have a happy ending.

Welcome to your sad lonely life, it gets better, probably, hopefully. Maybe not.

E

njoy.