There is a reason/ reasons why I left Jdate, and vowed to never return; the Bochers’ were shady liars who feigned true interest, while only wanting to slide their shvantzes (penises) where they are not welcome. There have been drug dealers who thought a first date and a deal were one in the same, and others who asked to split the bill on our first date.( Gevalt! (heaven forbid)) There were even those who were definitely into men more than I.
But, I allowed outsiders to convince me to give it another go, ‘you need to date older men, Dorie,’ said my father, ‘You’ll meet someone this time. I’m sure,’ said my sister. Oh, they were so optimistic. Sorry, Dad and Sis, I think the Bochers’ of Jdate have failed yet again.
The week after our fourth date, the one in which Bocher #1, asked me to be exclusive, sailed by smoothly. We texted back and forth; I wished him luck on an upcoming interview, he thanked me graciously. Friday arrived and after not hearing whether we had weekend plans, I texted him to inquire.
‘Hope you are doing well, wondering whether you’d like to get together this weekend?’
‘Would you?’ he replied.
‘Yes, but I’m busy Friday and Saturday, was thinking we could do something Sunday.’ I replied.
A good while passed, and then I got THE text.
‘No thanks, Dorie.’
Three words, yet I read them over and over again like they were in another language; one I most certainly didn’t know. One that I’ve come to call; the language of the Shtik drek (shit-head).
I rehashed Date #4 in my mind. Yes, he said he was ‘my biggest fan.’ Yes, he said a good number of times that he ‘really, really liked me and that he had mentioned me to his mother. ‘Yes, he showed me the workout area in his condo and said he would ‘give me a key’ so I could use it. Yes, he most definitely asked me to be exclusive, hadn’t he?
I texted him back, beyond confused, wrote, ‘ Huh?’
‘I’m sorry my grandmother is coming in Sun and it is the only time I will get to see her. Even were that not the case however ure proposal that we hang out Sunday night is farce and I would never agree. You are apparently very very busy, and apparently go to bed at 7:45 many nights.’
I quickly typed back, ‘Yes, I am busy, but I am trying to make this work. I’m very confused, Bocher.’
He responded, ‘I frankly don’t see this working. I would like to be friends. There seems to be a fundamental incompatibility here. Let’s get coffee or something another weekend.’
Shock and awe. Shock and awe, followed by me wanting to write back, ' Gai tren zich.' (go fuck yourself ) I remained tsemisht (bewildered), my left eye brow raised slightly in confusion.
I typed, 'What? I thought you wanted us to be exclusive and now you want to ‘just be friends.’ That doesn’t make sense.
Besides shock and awe, I was highly, highly perturbed. I didn’t know what to think, and yet I wasn't sure if I cared, but waited for a response. Yet again, I mulled over the past dates in which he has told me that ‘we have so much in common! I find you so interesting.’
After this text, I decided to put aside my cell phone, placed it far, far away, because frankly, it was ruining my positive energy and affecting the writing I was working on. I put it in my purse on the other side of my bedroom and not soon after heard the sound of my phone vibrating, not one time, not two, but seven. Seven times. I did not make my way to my purse. I did not fish for my cell phone amongst the other things in my purse; wallet, ipod, lipgloss, Tylenol, tampons. I left it there, continued on with my day, which consisted of completing my goal of 1000 words and working out at the gym. There, I saw my sister, who had been previously been informed of the strange turn in which Bocher and I’s relationship had suddenly taken. We chated on the elliptical as we both feverishly moved our muscles. I told her about the plethora of messages he had sent me and the fact that I had not yet glanced at them.
My sister loves drama. She is quite the plyoot (bull-shitter).If the TV network BRAVO were to create a ‘Housewives of Falls Church, City,’ she’d be the first to apply.
She begged me to check them, but I refused, until later that evening at her house when I grew tired of her incessant pleading and her husband’s inquiries. I promised to read them aloud as my 2 year old nephew grabbed fistfuls of mac and cheese out of his bowl. But before reading, I quickly scanned them to make sure they were appropriate for everyone’s ears. They were not, so I picked which lines to read.
In the interest of space and your own boredom, I will do the same for you.
‘Actually, what I said was that I would appreciate it if you didn’t continue to have sex with someone a month into us going out for my physical health since I don’t want VD or any other diseases…I don’t want to be implicated in some plebian drama (yes he did use ‘plebian’)…I wasn’t so much asking you to go steady (yet again he did say ‘steady’) as to preserve a zone of basic decency. Our dynamic (which apparently is not one that meshes) has me agitated and occupying too much mental space for someone I see once a week.’
After reading them, I looked at my brother in law, farmisht (dumbfounded). For a writer, I had no words. Bocher #1 had successfully berated me, but by that point I was pretty much over it. Drama I do not do. I have enough of my own. My brother in law looked to his son, smiled and said, ‘Yay, once again DeDe is all yours,’ to which my nephew responded with his arms flailing, ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, De De De De De.’
At least, one of us was happy, because in the end my brother in law was right, Bocher #1 was just looking to get some, and truthfully, I’m not looking give.