tomoatmeal: “This date is going really well,” I...

“This date is going really well,” I said. “We’re having conversations like crazy.”

“Yep.”

“We’re having a conversation right now about having a conversation. How crazy is that?”

“It’s pretty crazy.”

“On a scale of one to ten with one being, “not that crazy” and ten being, “very crazy,” how crazy would you say it is that here we are on a date, having a conversation about having a conversation?”

“Umm, I really don’t know. Eight, I guess.”

Under the table, I scribbled an “8” onto the thigh of my super expensive date pants, but I did it slowly, so she wouldn’t think that I was masturbating. I could record it in a notebook later.

“A conversation about a conversation is like those little dolls that break open to reveal an even tinier doll,” I said. “And so forth and so forth until the last doll is like one of those tiny pieces of solid wood that you give to an idiot to chew on.”

“What?”

“They should make a giant one of those dolls,” I said, not even looking at her at that point. “They could plop it down along a highway in Kansas and advertise it as the world’s largest. Vacationers could…”

“I really think that I should be…”

“VACATIONERS COULD VISIT the gigantic doll and for five bucks, a team of construction workers would disassemble the doll, one at a time, until you were left with a long row of dolls, descending in height.”

I was sweating now, but felt obligated to continue.

“The whole cycle would last around fifteen minutes so if you paid your five bucks and the construction workers were in the middle of a show, there is a waiting room, where you can sit and read a magazine until they are ready to start it up again!”

I even changed the structure of the sentence mid-delivery as if to imply that somehow I thought that verbally expressing a hypothetical situation was enough to make it instantly come true. Who knows? Maybe I did think that.

Later that evening, the dating website added all of these crazy new features, most of which were stupid.

THE END.