criticism . “It's the perfect dating guide.”
“ Because?” she wants to know.
“ Because I'm sick of being a doormat,” I blurt. Yes, I’ve come to realize my worst fears are true. I know I’ve been a doormat, but I’m not going to be anymore. “I'm sick of dating losers.”
I kick at a few pages of self-help book that are near my feet. “ And these stupid books do nothing but compound the problem with their moronic advice!”
I can tell by the way she’s holding herself and tilting her head that she’s horribly engaged in my plight. “ I've never tried dating men,” she tells me. “But is it really that bad?”
Slumping down on the couch a little, I grumble. “ It's horrible.” She leans in very attentively, so I continue. “Do you know that Elliot was at least an hour late for every date we ever had? At the very least an hour. But these books say stupid stuff like I should be patient with him and explain that he's hurting my feelings.” Dahlia shakes her head, confirming that it’s bad advice, but I cut her off before she can say anything. “As if telling a guy he's being a giant dill hole ever made him less of a giant dill hole. That's bullshit, and I'm sick of it!”
Dahlia pulls back. She’s a little ruffled. I don’t think she expected me to yell. “ Yes. I can see that.”
I grab The Art of War out of her hands and start waving it around. “Tactics! Strategy! Maneuvers! This is the real advice you need not to get stuck with a schmuck.”
Holding up both hands in a gesture of mock surrender, Dahlia says, “Okay, I’m convinced.” She lowers her hands. “ But just how, exactly, are you going to pull it off?”
To be honest, I haven’t got a clue about that part, but I’m not going to let it stop me. I at least have the kernel of a plan. “ I've already scouted my conquest,” I tell her. “Now all I have to do is follow the advice of the master.”
My idea has Dahlia intrigued; I can tell by the way her whole body seems alert. She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “ Ooh, who did you target?” Her eyes glow a little in anticipation of some juicy gossip.
Her intense interest makes me cautious. I mean, Chicago’s a big town, but Dahlia rubs elbows with a lot of rich people, and you never know who knows who. “ I probably shouldn't say...” I try to evade the question, really not wanting to shoot myself in the foot.
“ Come on.” Dahlia won’t be dissuaded that easily. “Wasn't I going to call 911 if you were dead?” she points out.
“ Okay... Well...” I’m still reluctant but can’t resist at least giving a hint. “He's someone I work with.”
I can tell from her reaction that my hint was too obvious. She’s already come to a conclusion. “Trent Winchell!” she says. Her answer is more like a pronouncement than a guess.
I’m surprised and more than a little embarrassed. There’s no point in hiding it. “How did you know?” I ask.
“ I'm gay, not a moron,” she tells me in a very droll tone. “Besides, it's who I'd go for.” After thinking about it for another moment, she adds, “Not to be rude, but seriously, don't you think you're aiming pretty high? He is one of the most eligible bachelors in Chicago, after all,” she points out.
Not that this thought hasn’t crossed my mind already, but I’ve blotted it out. “ I have to do something different,” I insist, the pitch of my voice expressing my exasperation. “After Elliot, I don't think I can aim any lower.”
“Yes,” she nods, pursing her lips together. “ You've got a point. I've seen your ex in the halls.” She suppresses a slight shudder. “He wasn't really into grooming, was he?”
I fold my arms tightly across my chest. “ He was more into cheating.”
Dahlia doesn’t try to hide her revulsion. “What?” she almost gags. “That thing got more than one woman to sleep with it? In the same decade?” She is simply incredulous. “Wow! You straight girls really do have
“ Because?” she wants to know.
“ Because I'm sick of being a doormat,” I blurt. Yes, I’ve come to realize my worst fears are true. I know I’ve been a doormat, but I’m not going to be anymore. “I'm sick of dating losers.”
I kick at a few pages of self-help book that are near my feet. “ And these stupid books do nothing but compound the problem with their moronic advice!”
I can tell by the way she’s holding herself and tilting her head that she’s horribly engaged in my plight. “ I've never tried dating men,” she tells me. “But is it really that bad?”
Slumping down on the couch a little, I grumble. “ It's horrible.” She leans in very attentively, so I continue. “Do you know that Elliot was at least an hour late for every date we ever had? At the very least an hour. But these books say stupid stuff like I should be patient with him and explain that he's hurting my feelings.” Dahlia shakes her head, confirming that it’s bad advice, but I cut her off before she can say anything. “As if telling a guy he's being a giant dill hole ever made him less of a giant dill hole. That's bullshit, and I'm sick of it!”
Dahlia pulls back. She’s a little ruffled. I don’t think she expected me to yell. “ Yes. I can see that.”
I grab The Art of War out of her hands and start waving it around. “Tactics! Strategy! Maneuvers! This is the real advice you need not to get stuck with a schmuck.”
Holding up both hands in a gesture of mock surrender, Dahlia says, “Okay, I’m convinced.” She lowers her hands. “ But just how, exactly, are you going to pull it off?”
To be honest, I haven’t got a clue about that part, but I’m not going to let it stop me. I at least have the kernel of a plan. “ I've already scouted my conquest,” I tell her. “Now all I have to do is follow the advice of the master.”
My idea has Dahlia intrigued; I can tell by the way her whole body seems alert. She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “ Ooh, who did you target?” Her eyes glow a little in anticipation of some juicy gossip.
Her intense interest makes me cautious. I mean, Chicago’s a big town, but Dahlia rubs elbows with a lot of rich people, and you never know who knows who. “ I probably shouldn't say...” I try to evade the question, really not wanting to shoot myself in the foot.
“ Come on.” Dahlia won’t be dissuaded that easily. “Wasn't I going to call 911 if you were dead?” she points out.
“ Okay... Well...” I’m still reluctant but can’t resist at least giving a hint. “He's someone I work with.”
I can tell from her reaction that my hint was too obvious. She’s already come to a conclusion. “Trent Winchell!” she says. Her answer is more like a pronouncement than a guess.
I’m surprised and more than a little embarrassed. There’s no point in hiding it. “How did you know?” I ask.
“ I'm gay, not a moron,” she tells me in a very droll tone. “Besides, it's who I'd go for.” After thinking about it for another moment, she adds, “Not to be rude, but seriously, don't you think you're aiming pretty high? He is one of the most eligible bachelors in Chicago, after all,” she points out.
Not that this thought hasn’t crossed my mind already, but I’ve blotted it out. “ I have to do something different,” I insist, the pitch of my voice expressing my exasperation. “After Elliot, I don't think I can aim any lower.”
“Yes,” she nods, pursing her lips together. “ You've got a point. I've seen your ex in the halls.” She suppresses a slight shudder. “He wasn't really into grooming, was he?”
I fold my arms tightly across my chest. “ He was more into cheating.”
Dahlia doesn’t try to hide her revulsion. “What?” she almost gags. “That thing got more than one woman to sleep with it? In the same decade?” She is simply incredulous. “Wow! You straight girls really do have
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