Hot Sweatshirts, Cold Coffee

Ah, Alice.  Alice appeared as a "suggested" match on a particular dating site about a year ago.  I checked out her profile, and statements such as, "I LOVE SHOES" and a photo of her wearing a purple, sparkly t-shirt that read "PRINCESS" were enough to turn me off to her.  For some reason or another, this shoe-loving princess thought it prudent to contact me.

"I see you like film." was her first message.  There were no questions, no details, only that statement, which succinctly summarized something that I had already listed on my profile.

"Yes I do," I replied, via e-mail.  This was great.

"What kinds of film," she replied back, two days later.  The lack of a question mark at the statement's end made me wonder if she was asking a question or issuing high philosophical discourse.

Hoping to end things quickly, I replied, "All types.  Good luck out there."

No reply for a month.  Then, "I like all types too," appeared in my inbox.  This was all a bit too exciting for me, but I wasn't really into it.  But then, she quickly followed it up with, "Want to get coffee?  My treat."  Turns out, I'm into free coffee.

She showed up on a particularly warm day in jeans and a dark green sweatshirt.  Her long, dark hair was down, and she was sweaty.

"It's so hot out!" she said, wiping her brow with her sleeve.

"It sure is," I said, "Great day for long pants and a sweatshirt."

"It's so hot, right?" she asked me.

"It sure is!"

She said, "Let's go get coffee!"

I need to give Alice a bit of credit here.  She was a pre-med student who was working the equivalent of two full-time jobs in addition to her studies.  The girl barely had a moment to think, much less make intelligent conversation.  Still, I'm not sure if her employment/academic situation can really excuse what came next.

"Nice, hot coffee," she announced as she sat across from me with her nice, hot coffee.

I was about to attempt conversation when she said, "Wait... why did I order this?  It's warm out today, isn't it?"

I stared at her, then said, "It might be the warmest day of the year."

She held up a finger and said, "Hold on for just a sec."

She stood up with her nice, slightly-less-hot coffee, and brought it to the counter.  She said to the barista, "It's too hot for hot coffee.  Do you sell cold coffee?"

They were nice enough to replace her hot coffee with colder coffee, and she sat down across from me.  Then, she stood up and said, "Let's get out of here.  It's too hot."

We walked down the block and into the suburban wilds.  She kept wiping her brow with her sleeve and holding the coffee cup to her forehead.  "It's really hot out today, isn't it?"

"It is," I agreed, "Want to go home and change?  I can wait for you."

She stopped walking and wrinkled her face at me.  "I'm not changing in front of you.  We just met!"

I said, "I never asked you to do that.  In fact, please don't.  Ever.  I merely asked if you'd like to run home and change.  I can wait."

"Yeah," she said, wiping the coffee cup all over her face, "Let me do that.  You'll be here?"

"Sure."

She ran home and was back in about twenty minutes.  This time, she was wearing the same pants, but had a bright yellow sweatshirt on.  She wiped her brow and asked me, "What's your problem?"

I said, "I... er... I don't think I said anything."

She said, "You asked me about this sweatshirt before."

"I've never seen that sweatshirt before today."

"So what's your problem with it?"

"Nothing.  It's a nice sweatshirt."

"It's so hot out."

"It is."

She asked, "Do you want this sweatshirt?"

I said, "No, thanks."

"Are you gay?"

"No."

She said, "But if you said you wanted this sweatshirt, I'd have to take it off to give it to you.  You'd see my sizable mammaries.  Both of them."

"I think I'm good."

"So you're gay."

"I'm straight, but I'm not interested."

She paused to think about this for a few moments, then settled on, "So, you're gay."

I shrugged.  "Okay.  Please keep your shirt on."

"Here."

She pulled off her sweatshirt and handed it to me.  She wore a black bra.  Her chest glistened with gallons of sweat.  She then said, "I've got to go," and left.

I donated the sweatshirt to a Goodwill.  I couldn't let it infect me with crazy.