Penelope, who is not unusually gassy, went on a date with a man
My homegirl Penelope went on a date with a man from the Internet. She called me after to tell me about it and confirm that she hadn't been murdered or sold into white slavery. (For the record, he is a nice man and didn't do anything creepy like poop in her bathtub or call her by his "dead" wife's name and then have it turn out that she's not really dead but just locked in the basement.)
Now, she and I are hot single gals who turn a few heads to be sure. We have had boyfriends. And boy friends. But dating -- you know, where a person you don't really know goes on an outing with you for the purpose of perhaps going on more outings with you and eventually becoming your boyfriend -- is not something we know a damn thing about. Dating is what the characters in "Sweet Valley High" books and episodes of those WB shows do. We don't do that.
Here is an approximation of the beginning of our conversation:
Penelope: I am going to tell you what happened, without stating my opinions about it, and then I have a question to ask you about it.
Me: OK.
P: [describes what they did, where they went, etc.]
Me: Sounds good. So, what's the question?
P: Was that a date?
Me: [gurgle, gurgle, laugh, drool] Yes!
I figured she was going to ask me if I thought he would ask her out again, or if she gave appropriate signals, or if I thought he sounded interesting. No. She just wanted to know if what she had just experienced was indeed a "date," to use the parlance of our time. Oh, the conversation we had. It was like "Sex and the City" for the socially retarded.
An interesting fact about this man: He has no sense of smell. Penelope usually smells pretty awesome. But his lack of smell pleases her to no end. She can fart and, as long as it's silent, he will never know. There are a whole host of other benefits to this malady of his that I am too much of a lady to detail. Now, before you think I'm friends with some gassy chick who eschews deodorant and doesn't wipe properly, I must state that Penelope's personal hygiene is above reproach, and in the 17 years I've known her she has never farted in front of me or had body odor.
What's more interesting than the fact that this man can't smell: Penelope and I both harbor the notion that he really can smell and just tells women this as some kind of test to see if they start stinking in front of him. We are college-educated, productive members of society -- I am a newspaper editor, and she is a CEO -- and we believe that a man would go around feining anosmia in some type of diabolical plot to weed out the farters and lazy bathers.
We're pretty rad. Do you want to date us?
Now, she and I are hot single gals who turn a few heads to be sure. We have had boyfriends. And boy friends. But dating -- you know, where a person you don't really know goes on an outing with you for the purpose of perhaps going on more outings with you and eventually becoming your boyfriend -- is not something we know a damn thing about. Dating is what the characters in "Sweet Valley High" books and episodes of those WB shows do. We don't do that.
Here is an approximation of the beginning of our conversation:
Penelope: I am going to tell you what happened, without stating my opinions about it, and then I have a question to ask you about it.
Me: OK.
P: [describes what they did, where they went, etc.]
Me: Sounds good. So, what's the question?
P: Was that a date?
Me: [gurgle, gurgle, laugh, drool] Yes!
I figured she was going to ask me if I thought he would ask her out again, or if she gave appropriate signals, or if I thought he sounded interesting. No. She just wanted to know if what she had just experienced was indeed a "date," to use the parlance of our time. Oh, the conversation we had. It was like "Sex and the City" for the socially retarded.
An interesting fact about this man: He has no sense of smell. Penelope usually smells pretty awesome. But his lack of smell pleases her to no end. She can fart and, as long as it's silent, he will never know. There are a whole host of other benefits to this malady of his that I am too much of a lady to detail. Now, before you think I'm friends with some gassy chick who eschews deodorant and doesn't wipe properly, I must state that Penelope's personal hygiene is above reproach, and in the 17 years I've known her she has never farted in front of me or had body odor.
What's more interesting than the fact that this man can't smell: Penelope and I both harbor the notion that he really can smell and just tells women this as some kind of test to see if they start stinking in front of him. We are college-educated, productive members of society -- I am a newspaper editor, and she is a CEO -- and we believe that a man would go around feining anosmia in some type of diabolical plot to weed out the farters and lazy bathers.
We're pretty rad. Do you want to date us?
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