I wish I could cry. I’m not saying I don’t cry, I do but at the most inopportune moments. I’ll cry when I’m in the drive-thru at my bank. I’ll try to speak and my voice cracks. That’s humiliating. Some poor young girl, who can wear tight fitting tops and looks good in too much silver, trying to either ignore me or be overly kind only adds to my weeping fit.
Then, when I go home, shut the door, ignore the loud party the neighbors are throwing in the apartment below me, I tell myself go ahead and cry.
I often wonder what it would be like to take on a lover again. When I was young making love was so simple, I would just pretend he was someone else and the climax was spectacular. The afterglow was decidedly flat because he always had to smoke afterward and would fall asleep on the couch. I guess I had that coming.
But to take on a lover now, that would be interesting. I don’t have the strength to lie anymore; what would I be like, brutally honest? Yes, that’s the thing right there, I’d probably cry. Then one of two things would happen, he would put his pants on backward trying to get away from me or make me tea and pat my head. Either way, the circumstances would remind me of the bank teller in the tight top and too much silver and I know I’d laugh like a bitch.
I guess this is what it’s like losing in musical chairs. I remember only once playing musical chairs as a child but I don’t remember if I lost or not. I don’t suppose that’s played in the western world anymore – all of our political correctness not allowing anyone to stand alone, be cast out, move over to the side. Now we all just stand on one side of the room or the other and no music plays at all. Safer anyway I suppose.
So there I sit in my apartment, a party down below and me allowing myself to cry and feeling as noncommittal to the action as I possibly can. I think about turning on my computer and watching a French film and I think about making myself an omelet and I think about adopting a cat. Nothing. But tomorrow when I’m sitting at my job and thinking about what I did the evening before, I’ll want to weep at how pathetic I must have appeared to no one there.
So rather than think, I walk to the bar and drink sticky sweet sherry because I can’t think of what to order and watch the band play songs they don’t really know. I see a face I passed during the day and he nods my way, too bored or too shy to come say hello. This, I think is how online dating was born, no musical chairs, no mistakes, no crime and no tears.