"Post your boring short stories" Okay, I can do that.
0 replies, posted
About Our Date
From: Angellica Irving
Sent: Tue 12/16/08 3:42AM
To: John Tilmont
I wanted to apologize. So I got your email from Stacy; I hope you don’t mind. I wont be sending you fwds or anything, I just thought I should explain myself.
When you walked me to my door and leaned in to kiss me, I didn’t mean to offend you by turning away, but I’m very self conscious. I know you had already figured that out considering I mentioned it a few times at dinner. That alone makes me wonder why you were attempting to kiss me at all. I know you didn’t feel anything for me, and that there was no spark between us. I know you think I talk too much and that I’m too fat and my eyes are too far apart and that I embarrassed you. I know that you haven’t thought of me once since our date even though I constantly daydream about what would have happened if I had let you kiss me. Maybe you would have come in with me and we would have slept together. Maybe you would have laughed at how badly I kissed. Maybe you would have known that my third grade teacher touched me inappropriately. In the end of every scenario you always end up holding me in your arms and tell me that everything my father said about me was wrong. I’m sure you only tried to kiss me because Stacy asked you to be nice to me. She set us up on a blind date because she knows I’m alone and that I feel envious when everyone in the office talks about their lovers or spouses and that she’s seen me crying in the bathroom.
Anyway, I also wanted to apologize to you about not being completely truthful. When I told you my last boyfriend raped me, it was a lie. I wanted you to think I was pretty, so I figured if you thought someone else found me desirable you would become jealous. The truth is, I’ve never had a boyfriend.
I hope you don’t think I’m some sort of stalker for emailing you out of the blue like this. I just wanted to explain some things. If you didn’t have too terrible of a time, I would love to go out with you again. I swear I can be a little less anxious and I would love to see you once more. I’ve already forgotten what your hair smells like.
(Published in Loath Letters by Christy Leigh Stewart)
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