Let's Play a Game
By Ritija Gupta

G: Oh hey—did you have trouble getting here?

B: No, I ended up just taking the valet parking.

G: I appreciate it, I hate when people are late.

B: Me too. It's like people think their time is more important than yours. [removes jacket, places on back of chair, seats himself and takes a drink of water]

G: You're not nearly as unattractive as I thought you were going to be. Anne's taste in men is pretty terrible.

B: I know—Dave is a tool. I'm only friends with him because he helped me get my job, plus Anne has a ton of hot friends, so staying in her circle works to my advantage.

G: I'm assuming I'm one of those hot friends. So thanks. I actually didn't eat for two days—but I think it was worth it. [beat] You're wearing some expensive shoes.

B: They're actually two sizes too big. In real life, I look like I have little elf feet.

G: You kind of seem to have a little elf body.

B: I'm just wiry. But I compensate for it by spending lavishly on my loved ones and being very physically demonstrative with my dates.

G: That's fine. I'm pretty clingy, so the more you can reassure me of my own desirability, the easier it will be for us to bond.

B: Oh. You're ready to bond? I'm not sure I'm there yet—but don't worry, I am completely prepared to sleep with you.

G: I appreciate that. [straightens all of her silverware]

B: Was that compulsive?

G: Yes.

B: If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I'm not sure I'm ready for you to divulge your painful and complex past.

G: But we will because I'm going to direct the conversation to me at every available opportunity so as to minimize your monologuing about your career, aspirations, or vapid interests. [W approaches table]

B: Do you want the Bordeaux?

G: You can get whatever you want, I had four shots before I left the house.

B: Waiter, please get the lady and I this beverage here, which I don't want to pronounce lest I emasculate myself. I will also have the veal roast—the lady will have--?

G: The house salad and lobster bisque.

B: She will likely also have half of my meal.

W: I will be spitting in your food momentarily. [W leaves]

G: Can we talk about my past yet?

B: Can I stare at your cleavage?

G: You already are. Fine.

B: No, I want to hear about it, especially if it's going to end up derailing our relationship a few weeks from now when you realize that I'm as emotionally unavailable as your father, or narcissistic as your mother.

G: So you don't have issues?

B: I do. But I have a number of paraphilias that get me through the day.

G: That sounds exciting.

B: Because you don't know what 'paraphilia' means.

G: You don't know how shut down you're going to be by the end of the evening.

B: Okay, so I want to hear what your issues are, so at least I can start recognizing the warning signs.

G: Well, the main thing is that my father was a perfectionist. He loved straight lines. If something was out of order, he'd go ballistic.

B: That was a great story.

G: It's not a story, it's my life. I could never do anything well enough. What about you—why do you feel the need to compensate for your elfin qualities?

B: I wouldn't say it's compensation. It's more trying to fulfill people's expectations of me. In fact, I have no problem with myself, but I find that a perfunctory attempt at humility goes over much better than open arrogance.

G: But you are being openly arrogant.

B: You're being openly annoying. Fortunately, your attractiveness has completely overridden any instincts I had to jump out of my seat and run the hell out of here.

G: Understandably. My heavily manicured appearance is a direct result of my inability to cultivate any desirable personality traits. It's not for lack of trying, but I can only deny the truth for so long. [W approaches with drinks and food]

W: Sorry it took me so long, but rubbing my hindquarters all over your meals took a lot more dexterity than I thought.

G: I'm sorry, I can't hear men unless they make more money than me. [leans towards B] What did he say?

B: Cleavage. I mean. It doesn't matter. This looks delicious.

[B and G sit in silence for a few moments]

G: Mommy issues?

B: Minor Oedipal complex. Although it's been exacerbated by her recent death.

G: That's a relief—I'm not emotionally equipped to meet the unreasonable expectations of someone's doting mother. I happen to idolize my father.

B: Yeah, I figured that.

G: I mean, you would never come close. Especially with those dainty forearms you're working with.

B: Okay, I get it.

G: [beat] You find me irritating.

B: Yes. But I really want to claw my way through your hair.

G: What am I making you for breakfast?

——

Ritija Gupta is more cynical before 9am than most people are all day.

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