Loser Maki

Story Sent in by Victoria:

Andy and I really hit it off online. He sent me a quirky, unusual first message, and we never ran out of things to talk about. "Don't worry," he wrote me, "I'm not one of those guys who sends you pictures of their schlong."

"Thanks," I wrote back, "That's happened, and it's unpleasant."

"It's happened to me, too," he wrote back, "See?" and he attached pictures of five guys' dicks to his email. That was a bit much, but I tried to have a good sense of humor about the whole thing.

"I never want to see that many dicks at once ever again," I wrote back, "Which is probably something you say every weekend."

He responded to my ribbing in good spirits, and all seemed well.

For our first date, he invited me out to a Japanese restaurant that I had always wanted to try. We met outside, hugged, went in, and sat down.

He handed me a menu and said, "Let me know if you have any questions. I've probably ordered everything off this menu at some time or another."

I scanned the food options, and indeed, I did have a few questions, as the restaurant used Japanese transliterations, as opposed to English translations, on their menu. For instance, they listed unagi, tekka maki, and kappa maki as opposed to eel, tuna roll, and cucumber roll. I pointed to one of the items and Andy said, "Oh, that? That means dick." He flashed me a smile, then said, "Remember when I sent you all those dick pics?"

That email had arrived a few days earlier, and as such, it was impossible for me to have forgotten it. I replied, "I do. Now what does this really mean?"

He asked, "Do you have to use the bathroom at all?"

"No."

"Okay." He looked at where I pointed on the menu. "It means 'egg.'"

About a half-hour into dinner, I did have to use the ladies' room, and so I excused myself to do so.

When I returned to the table, I found a pile of five diIdos on my seat. Andy sat there as if nothing was wrong. "What the hell?" I asked him.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Get these off my seat."

He frowned, then leaned over the table to look at the diIdos that he had somehow sneaked in, under his coat or wherever. He said, "Ugh! DiIdos!" then looked up at me and said, "Well? You going to sit on them?"

I stared at him, amazed at his brazen stupidity. He said, "There are five of them. Get it? Five diIdos?"

"I get it," I snapped, then glanced around and said, "Take them off my seat."

"No," he replied.

I grabbed my coat and left the restaurant. He texted me mere minutes later: "Five diIdos," and a few minutes after that, "Um…… not sure what I did to deserve that! Reschedule???"

I thought about writing him back to explain it. However, I figured that if he couldn't answer that for himself, then no amount of discussion on my part would help him.