If You Give a Lawyer a Pretzel

15 Jun

Filling up my key ring with a cornucopia of captivating keychains from around the world is harder than I thought!  I was supposed to meet a man on Monday night who allegedly has a keychain for me, but he canceled because he came down with an “intense nasal infection” as he put it via text message.  Sexy.

This man was actually the reason I got the idea for my keychain experiment in the first place.  After messaging me for weeks and never being able to meet up, I had dismissed him.  His messages would include fun facts that I really needed to know such as: how his dog was taking up all the space on his bed and how she knew he was typing about her, what he did every second of his Memorial Day weekend at his brother’s lake house, and how he was going to Morocco for a couple weeks.  When he was about to leave the country, he texted me asking if I wanted him to bring me back anything from Morocco.  Since, at this point, I had written him off completely, I said “Yes, actually.  I could really use some of those grains of rice with writing on them… or a keychain will do.”  Thus, the 2012 Keychain Experiment was born.  He messaged me immediately upon his return to America, telling me that he had an extra special keychain tucked away in his bag just for me.  Due to his contaminated nasal passages, I have yet to see the proof.

Casting aside my key ring in shame, I set up a quick substitute for Tuesday night so I wouldn’t go the whole week without a date.  This guy was a 6’5” Asian lawyer who selected “Used Up” for his body type (my favorite).  It was pouring rain all day on Tuesday, and by the time I arrived at the bar in the East Village I looked like a moist spaniel.  I looked for “Kyle” in the bar for a good five minutes before he emerged from a dark corner.  We sat down and he stared at me blankly and said “Ummmmmmm…” so I hinted that perhaps we should order a beer.  He was incredibly awkward and clearly did not know what to talk about, so naturally we spent a solid amount of time commenting on the fact that it was indeed raining out.  His behavior was surprising to me because his profile and messages had made him seem so funny and outgoing.

I hadn’t eaten dinner and had heard that this place offered an intriguing soft pretzel appetizer, so I ordered that for us to share.  When it arrived, I cheers’ed his pretzel and simultaneously noticed his obscenely long knuckle hair.  Seriously, I was afraid it was going to dangle in the cheese sauce it was so long.  I moved my gaze from his knuckles to the rest of his hands and observed that the back of his right hand was much hairier than the back of his left hand.  I considered that maybe the right hand could belong to the third primate on the evolution chart and the left hand looked more like the step just before man.

“I noticed you have a tattoo on your arm.”  I was jolted back to the conversation at hand (pun intended).  “Yes, I actually have a few.  Do you have any tattoos?”  “No way,” Kyle replied, “my dad is a huge homophobe, and he thinks that people with tattoos are even worse than gay people.”  I almost choked on my pretzel.  “Well, he sounds like a lovely man”  I managed to get out after taking a hearty swig of my beer.  What?  Who says that?  He spent the next few minutes telling me how much he liked my tattoos and how he wishes he could get one.  Did I mention he was 30 years old?

He ordered another round without asking if I wanted one (you don’t have to tell me twice) and I listened to him make smacking sounds with his mouth while he finished his soft pretzel.  I always say that chewing with your mouth open is comparable to nails on a chalkboard for me… but actually it might be worse.  I attempted to have an out-of-body experience while he finished eating, pretending I was on a boat in a peaceful sea.  This was difficult because, at this point,  he was leaning in very closely.

Kyle went to the restroom and when he returned, his dripping hand-hair alarmed me all over again.  I told him I needed to head home (I actually had plans with a friend in Williamsburg and needed to get a move on.)  He walked me to the L, we shared an awkward embrace and went our separate ways.  I thought about how, even if I had really hit it off with this man, his father would never accept me because of my tattoos, and none of my gay friends would be allowed at our wedding.  On the other hand, he was a lawyer… and our children would have really thick hair.

Ah well.  Godspeed, young scholar.  We’ll always have that soft pretzel.

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