We Met the Night of the Pudgy Man and the Red Boxing Gloves.

I have fought the good fight. I have kept the good faith.

Hey, wanna grab a drink?


her: Hi… I think I do? We met at that bar that one time two years ago on that night with the pudgy man… in red boxing gloves?

him: Yes- the red gloves! How could I forget? Such a hero. I backed up my phone *TG* and just refreshed my contacts and saw your number, and wanted to give you a buzz. Are we on?

her: I don’t see why not. Where do you want to meet? Please don’t pick something basic or ask me to pick. I secretly know zero to few eccentric restaurants and bars and will probably disappoint myself by picking Shake Shack.

him: How about this sexy, not-too-mainstream-so-you-can’t-judge-me-type-of-place called, Yvonne’s?

her: I’m actually not vomiting out my car window right now (but still texting)! How are you, BTW?

him: Pretty good. Just having one of those 2 year existential crises and struggling with a bloated ego. Otherwise, eating a lot of cheap, foreign food and my Fantasy Football team is crushing it. HBY?

her: Things are going! I’m trying hard not to hate my job and have been focusing all of my negative energy on my boss’s butt pockets.

him: LOL. I used to focus my negative thoughts on my nanny’s chest. I would chuck cheerios down her shirt during the peak of snack time.

her: YES! Love it. He has a cute butt, but the pockets! They just seem too saggy to me; just not right. I’m hoping to slam dunk one of my paper clips in there at some point- currently in a small contest with a few of my work husbands. Making friends, clearly.

him: No way! I have some friends trying new things to feel like they’re bettering themselves, too. Good for you.

her: Paperclips and sheer distraction is a phase I’m in right now. I’m actually transitioning out of the bring-a-green-smoothie-to-work stage. It’s so exhausting; there is way too much bullshitting with that one.

him: Let me guess….

her: Yep, I end up throwing out the smoothie once mid-morning hits and I make a break for it and lob a Union Square bacon cider donut into my mouth with full disclosure.

him: Nice. I wish girls would do that with my penis.

her: LOL. BTW so sorry for pretending that I had the norovirus and was allergic to dog hair the last time we almost had drunk sex! Totally my bad.

him: Gotcha. And no worries, I wasn’t too amped about it; big Pats game was happening on Sunday and I wanted to pregame the pregame. I have a lot of passions. I also ate Chipotle for lunch and things just weren’t settling well.

her: Cool. See you Friday at 7:45pm?

him: Friday it is!

Um, did you make it home OK? I forgot to walk you to the T. I’m such a dick.


her: No worries at all! I carry hand sanitizer that sprays and it usually has a pretty good range. So glad we got to see our pudgy guy friend. I wonder where his boxing gloves went?

him: So hilarious. He probably sold them to a dashing, dreaming to-be boxer and fled the scene with a shameful sense of loss. Hopefully he recognized the good deed. Whatta’ hero.

her: Probably.

him: We’ll have to keep an eye out next time we’re bar hopping…

her: (…!!?! Stay. Cool). Thanks for the drinks! I’m so surprised we got along like we did. You’re a lot smarter than I remember and demonstrated great subordinate eye contact.

him: Yeah, it was a solid time for sure. I loved when you clocked the waiter by accidentally in the groin. You’re a lot funnier than I remembered.

her: God. We prob should have gave him a fat tip…

him: LOL. I gotta go- raging in Fenway.

him: (…typing…)

him: (WTF…!?). I cannot believe I just told you that. Usually I just don’t respond once I feel that I’m done talking. Did a tectonic plate suddenly shift? I’m on unsteady grounds, here.

her: Maybe I’m the iceberg to your touring ship. Ick. That was such a cheesy, morbid metaphor. Anyway. I gotta do my face mask and giddily tell my girlfriends about our date and how you almost held the door for me twice! Night.

him: Later!

P.S. Up?


him: Yes.

her: Let’s definitely meet up again and hunt down the red boxing gloves.

him: Totes. I’ll put up a fight for ’em. The dashing dreamer is getting better at boxing someone’s teeth out everyday. Time is a tickin’.

her: How brave of you. OK. I’m actually going to bed this time after I manage to wash off my green mask of glory.

him: We’re both heroes, too. Night.

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