i'll have a perfect boyfriend soon, even if I have to make him up

It started out right.  I’m sipping my amaretto on the rocks and this guy comes up to me.  We’ll call him Gyro. Gyro says, God, you’re cute.  I like it. It’s okay if a hot guy says it, but absolutely vile if an uggo attempts the same.  My galpal tells me to give folks a chance.  Everyone has flaws, she says, it’s only after you really get to know them that you realize how great they are. So I gave him a chance.

I let him walk me home and gave him a little peck good night.  Nothing too heavy…just a lingering smooch. Okay! A little bit of tongue. Just the tip.  I picked up a couple of tickets to a movie premiere–I wanted him to know I was classy.  We went, and it was nice.  He was normal.  He suggested that since I bought the tickets, he’d pay for our meal.  He drove us to Subway.  SUBWAY!

Now I’m no snob, but Subway is no place for a first date. A lot can go wrong. I could order a footlong and he may only want a six-incher. I could drink a diet coke and he could be one of those anti-soda people.  And I’m not about to scarf down a huge sandwich on a date, and then smell like onions for the rest of the night.  I ordered a cookie.  Then it was his turn to order: an oven roasted chicken sandwich. He scarfed down his footlong, while I pecked at my cookie.

I should have known then.

Date number two–he picks me up and we go to the movies.  A triple date with two other couples. As we walk away from the theater he jerks his hand free from his pocket to put it around me.  As he does this, a little slip of paper falls out.  I stoop to pick it up. I read it: Buy One Get One Free Footlong Sandwich at Subway.  Weird. This guy must really like subway. He quickly puts it back in his pocket.

Date number three–I suggest a classy martini bar.  I’m still trying to turn him into my ideal man.  I go, and a gorgeous, sophisticated man hits on me.  I smile and put my arm around Mr. Gyro as I thank him for his compliment.  I long for the sophisticated guy.  Mr. Gyro asks if I’m hungry, and I almost shout, NO! Date number three means sex, and I want to taste his tzatziki sauce, not the honey mustard left on his goatee. He walks me to my door, but he says goodnight. I reply, Goodnight? He explains, I’ve got to work in the morning. What, he couldn’t stay up for two more minutes? I’m no stud.

Date number four–I’ve decided that if I don’t put my shawarma in his gyro tonight, then it’s over. He picks me up and we go to his friends house…a gorgeous, lakefront, penthouse.  It’s classy. They all have great taste in wine, and I make an effort to participate in the conversation–How did you all meet each other?

Oh, well we all frequent the same Subway.  Mondays you get half off a footlong, so we would all be there at the same time.

SUBWAY, again!  At the end of the night he takes me home. Sorry we couldn’t be alone tonight. Four dates, no sex!  I knew I should have rubbed some tuna on my neck before going out that night.

I went out, foolishly, to the same bar where we met, and of course Mr. Gyro walks in and sees me chattin’ up some buff papi named Vicente.

He walks right up. Oh so you don’t like me anymore, then? And he walks away. I explain to Vicente who can’t understand me–we went out for three weeks and there was no sex. And I feel like a monster.  But, but he and his friends have this weird obsession with subway.

Vicente nods and puts his hand on my inner thigh.

Fail.

I go home, alone.