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3^rd Nov, 2021

He's watching me. No, not watching, observing. No, not even that, that would entail some sort of intellectual process happening behind those hazel eyes of his. He's...simply staring at me. And it makes me uncomfortable. But I smile and I participate in the conversation because my friend really likes his pal.

She made me go out tonight even though I wasn’t feeling like it, but I still put on a nice olive green dress paired up with my black knee high boots and came out because she truly hopes for a relationship with this guy. I only came out because she promised me this was NOT a double date type of situation. I hate those, they always turn out messy in the end.

So, that dude’s friend is still staring at me, and I don’t know what to think of it. I know that I don’t have anything smudged on my face, I didn’t bother with makeup, I never do, I am positive that I didn’t say anything worthy of such attention, and I am pretty sure I am not that lovely to look at. On top of it all, this look on his face doesn’t scream ‘I am in love with you because your body is the bomb and your face is exquisite! You are a scrumptious delectable treat and I’m imagining what you would taste like.’, and that is precisely what makes me uncomfortable. It is more along the lines of… ‘Duuuuuuuuh.’… or something similar.

I am trying to tell one of my stories, making it a bit funnier than it is by using my usual comedy routine manner of speaking and adding commentary where appropriate, but never lying, for lying is for the weaklings who can’t use their wit and demeanour to enhance others’ experience by speaking in a certain way, but rather have a need to waste their imagination embellishing their stories so much that it is quite possible they never happened to them in the first place. But, coming back to the here and now, I’m trying to entertain them with truth as much as possible, and my observer has yet to say anything and change his vacuous expression, and it’s too much for me, I can’t take it anymore!

“Is there a problem?” I ask calmly but exuding firmness and a tad bit of annoyance, interrupting myself and at the same time turning to him, looking him straight in the eyes.

“What d’you mean?” he asks finally replacing that almost vacant look with one of surprise.

“Well, you’ve been staring at me for the last half an hour not saying anything and not changing your expression of...I can’t quite gauge what, and I’m just wondering what could possibly be that fascinating on my face.” I resume immediately since I’ve been thinking about asking this question for the last 27 minutes.

“Um… You caught that, huh?” he asks unwittingly while scratching the back of his head absentmindedly (like there could be any other way for him to do anything aside from without a brain), continuing after a slight pause. “I thought you’d be way different. I’d a different opinion of you, is all.” he finishes with an unapologetic shrug and a smug smirk on his face, and I don’t know which of the two makes my blood boil more, his “explanation” paired with the appalling grammar or the utter callousness of his demeanour, but I go into my ‘deadly-calm-angry mode’ which consists of coldness materializing in my look and my whole body getting rigid with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, my voice going even softer and all traces of a smile leaving my lips. So I lean on the table with my elbows, crossing my left hand over the right and moving them underneath my chin to support it, now resting on them; and I ask looking straight in his eyes:

“And how could you form an opinion of me before even speaking to me? I don’t remember us meeting prior to tonight.”

His brashness doesn’t disappear, but is somewhat shaken, which he tries to swiftly cover with:

“Well, I know your group, Mary, Nancy, Alexander, Sergio, so I figured you’d be like ‘em, birds of a feather and all that shit. So when you turned out all sweet, funny and...honest I couldn’t believe my ears.” he ends with that same smug smirk not leaving his face.

‘He couldn’t believe his ears’… Wow, such a valid reason for creeping me out.

Anyhow, since his answer isn’t to my liking (even though there is an offhand compliment embedded in the spew which has just come out of his mouth, but I am neither that cheap, not that superficial), I decide not to back down, it is not in my nature to do so – ever. This calls for a retaliation.

“And what gives you the right to form an opinion of me, or anyone for that matter, based solely on who I spend a fragment of my time with?” I’ve made my point and this stumps him, because my question has wiped that smugness off his face – finally, which gives me immense satisfaction that I choose not to show, there’s no point in gloating, that is for petty people.

I can see him racking his brain (the two brain cells that he has in that dull skull of his (I know I’m being cruel, sue me)), trying to find a suitable answer, but there is nothing he could say to wash away the redness which has started creeping along his face some time ago and has now reached the very tips of his ears. Shame is a good colour on him.

“Well, then, I’m aware that there is no answer to my question, that is why I’ve asked it, but not to worry, let this be a teaching moment for you. I’m not going to use that god-awful analogy and place myself as a proverbial book judged by its covers, since this is not completely applicable here, but do remember this moment each time you pass your judgement even before you’ve actually met the person.”

My friend is pale, the guy she likes is very quiet, and my observer’s ears are redder than ever. This won’t do, try to calm the situation.

I release the freezing look from my eyes, softening up my expression and I place my arms on the table, folding them one over the other so that they sit on its edge following it, which I know makes me look more approachable, and finish with:

“I know you meant no harm, so no harm done.” smiling slightly I continue, “Let’s forget that you had a label for me before you’ve even spoken one word to me, and I will rip out the one I formed during this conversation. What do you say we all start fresh?” I ask with serenity and literally no ill will.

Crickets... Great...

Taking the glass cradling my Mojito and lifting it up I offer:

“To clean slates, second chances and torn off labels?”

And eventually my observer returns a smile to his face, lifts up his pint of beer and cheers with me, all the while looking sheepish, and I’ll gladly take it, because, after all, this night is not about the two of us, but about our friends who resumed flirting happily the very moment our glasses touched.