But My Upstairs Is Vacant

Story Sent in by Rachel:

Frank and I were a blind date set up by an online matchmaking service. We met right outside of a restaurant, and after a first hug in which he pressed his whole self to me, we stepped back from each other, he sighed in what sounded like relief, and said, "You have a perfectly-shaped bubble butt."

"Uh, thanks?" I replied, then said, "Let's not talk about my butt. How was your day?"

The small talk commenced, and we sat down inside the restaurant. It was a noisy Italian place, but I had been there before and the food was good.

At one point, before the food arrived, Frank said, "My boy downstairs is really excited to be here."

"Your boy downstairs? You mean, like, your apartment neighbor?" I had never heard the phrase before, plus it was loud in there, okay?

He grinned. "Yeah. My neighbor."

The food came, we talked about this and that, and then once more, he brought up his "friend."

"After dinner, I should introduce you to my boy downstairs."

"Who is he?" I asked.

"He really wants to meet your Polly Pocket."

Boy downstairs. Got it in a flash. Ugh, gross! I put my fork down and said, "I don't think this is working. You and I."

He looked genuinely shocked and said, "Oh my God, I'm sorry. I was just kidding around. I'm just used to goofing off with my friends, but it was stupid for me to bring any of that up here. I'm sorry. I promise I won't bring it up anymore. Let's just have a nice dinner..."

And so on. He seemed sincere, so I gave him a stern look and went back to my meal.

A moment later, he said, "My boy downstairs loves the way you eat. Maybe he'll knock on your back door later and—"

I wrested my wallet out of my purse, put enough to cover myself down on the table, picked up my plate, hurried to the waiters' stand, asked for a box then and there, and then left with my dinner, without so much as a word to Frank.

That was a couple of years ago. Recently, I was at a local mall with two friends, and we had sat down in the food court over some lunch. Frank walked up to our table.

"I remember you," he said, "and that juicy butt of yours. Like a bubble! Mmm!"

I said, "Can you get away from us, loser?"

He shrugged and said, "Whatever. I still don't get you at all." He then turned and left us alone. I predict a lonely life for him.