As Real As It Gets

Telling me to try harder is like telling me I can get to the moon if I drive my car fast enough.
My answer is still the same.
I'm not you. You have to be world-class socially awkward and unpopular to even begin to come close to how low on the food chain I am, kid...

---

She watched them as she sat among them. Occasionally a kind soul or two would attempt to open for her an easy way into the conversation, but each time she accepted their indirect offer, she found she had no common ground with anyone there, and the room would fall into an awkward silence for half a minute or so.

She soon gave up trying.

Glancing often at her watch, she counted the minutes till she could excuse herself politely.

When that time had come, she got up and left the table quietly. It wasn't hard, they were all preoccupied. Somehow, she was more glad than disappointed that the conversation didn't pause when she did so. At least it meant that she wouldn't have to face a group of people who were merely trying to politely fulfill their duty as "acquaintances".

When she had reached the door, she heard a voice call her name amongst the continuing conversation. She inwardly steeled herself and turned around, smiling in as convincing a manner as she could manage.

"What is it?"

He returned the smile with a particularly strange one of his own, which she assumed meant he had seen through her act already.

"What, leaving so soon?"

She'd planned on him asking this question. He was too nice to do anything else. "Yes, I have a headache," she said, meeting his gaze squarely, almost daring him to call her out on her bluff. She knew he wouldn't, though, he was too cordial for that.

He licked his lips, and she could see it in his eyes; he'd seen through the pathetic lie immediately. She expected nothing less of him. Her excuse wasn't even an excuse, really, it was just formality.

"Alright," he replied. "I hope you join us again soon," he added, as sincerely as he could.

She smiled warmly, as though she really meant to take him up on his offer, but the both of them knew she wouldn't. As she turned the doorknob and passed the doorway, he returned to the group, and she heard him make no mention of her departure.

As she took one last glance at the group before she left, she silently thanked him for letting her escape in peace.

Your Perfect Woman

If I ran a matchmaking agency, it'd go something like this...
Although I think I'd run out of business in the first day.
Actually I wrote this a while back because I was frustrated with the standards some guys have for women ("What, you mean you're not perfect too?!")...
Moral of the story being: If you want THE stereotypically perfect woman, you'll probably have to settle for a fake one.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He sits across the table from me, eyebrows knitted, evidently sick of searching all his life for The One and failing miserably. Oh, poor fellow.

I smile and open my laptop.

"Okay, so run me through your list of criteria," I begin, fingers poised over the keyboard.

He licks his lips. "She's got to be hot, obviously."

I begin typing. "Nothing new."

"Long hair, long legs, long eyelashes."

"Go on."

"But shorter than me, of course." A rather unsettling grin creeps onto his face. "Oh, and she's got to be a C cup at LEAST."

I purse my lips and mumble, "Wow, that's deep."

Unfortunately he hears me and glares at me, but he continues anyway. "And she has to have lots of stamina. You know what I mean."

I make a face behind the laptop.

Leaning back, he looks out the window. "I want her to be submissive. I can't stand a woman talking back to me."

"Of course, sir. I'm sure she's got to be the perfect woman."

He bends forward and looks me in the eye. "You gonna help me find a hot chick or not?"

"...Actually, I do have the perfect woman for you. Please excuse me for a couple of minutes."

He smirks cockily and puts his hands behind his head. "I'll be waiting right here."

---

I rap on the door five minutes later, holding a blow-up doll of epic proportions. Or maybe epic measurements. It doesn't matter.

He flings open the door and practically leaps on her. (Fortunately I step aside in time.)

"Ohoho she's real fine... WAIT."

I grin innocently. "Pardon me, sir, aren't you happy with our selection? She's perfect, you know."

"But she isn't real!" He squeezes her in a rather immodest place, almost as if to prove his point.

"Exactly. Always a pleasure to leave a customer satisfied, sir."

I smile politely and show him the bill.

Nothing

He walked on her right, a calculated distance between them, and they remained quiet throughout. She chanced a sideways glance at him, and he looked stiff, as though he'd much rather be elsewhere. The expression looked rather odd on his face, given how she'd become used to their chatting and laughing in the past.

Sighing almost inaudibly, she continued the awkward walk with him in silence, hoping they'd reach their destination soon.

Just then, a young boy of about six appeared out of nowhere, presumably running to play a game with his friends, and bumped rather roughly into his leg. Surprising her, he bent down and beamed warmly at the kid, telling the boy rather amiably to be careful. He told the boy to run off, but not before he gave the kid's shoulder a friendly pat.

She watched him calmly, and marveled at the sight. Now that's the boy I remember...

He looked up at her, almost as though he had forgotten the awkward silence earlier. "You're smiling to yourself. A penny for your thoughts?"

She shook her head lightly. "It's nothing."