Author: Romi Moondi
Category: Humorous
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/romi-moondi/page,8,10594-year-of-the-chick.html
Romi
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So maybe it wasn’t the subtle move of a pro.
Oh well, if he wants to see my picture, he’ll make the next move.
I hugged my flannel-wearing knees up to my chest and tried to calm myself. As if in-person encounters weren’t confusing enough, now I had to deal with all these words on a screen? Maybe this road was inevitable for me, and hadn’t I heard story after story of people finding love on the ‘Net?
The mysterious part was trumped by a growing concern. I suddenly realized how accessible I was. Why did I ever use my name in the URL? It was an amateur move, and all I could hope was that my parents didn’t learn how to “Google.”
It was almost eight o’ clock in my time zone, which meant that James was long asleep so I didn’t have to sit by the screen.
I headed downstairs to warm up some of Mom’s famous cooking. Tonight I decided on her chickpeas in gravy or “channa,” paired with a freshly buttered naan I heated up on the stove. I sucked down the meal in minutes, and licked all the butter off my fingers when I was done.
I’m on a diet but I’m still human.
Twenty minutes later I was back in my room, ready for some Sunday night blogging. I switched off my e-mail to concentrate, and in a trance started typing like a demon on speed:
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Whatever happened to the glory of man, in all his rugged nakedness?
I’m not too sure, but when it comes to art and anatomy, all I hear about is women. I don’t deny the beauty that is smooth and curvy “woman,” but I certainly have my limits (such is the curse of being “hetero”).
And that brings me to men…manly men.
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I continued typing for half an hour straight. By the time I was finished expressing my love for art (that’s all it was), I instinctively opened my e-mail.
And that’s when I saw it again.
James had written me back.
But it’s half past three a.m. in Barcelona!
I excitedly clicked on the message:
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Hello Roms,
Then I will leave it to you to connect us on Facebook…if you are not against such a thing, of course.
J
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Even when he wanted something, he came out of it looking cool. How did he do that? Maybe he was really Daniel Craig, but with a different name and picture to stay anonymous.
Because yeah, Daniel Craig likes to blog on the side.
I would certainly add him as a friend, but a much more important task lay before me first; I had to comb through all my pics and delete every one that wasn’t hot.
I scrutinized picture after picture, deleting any image with the slightest hint of a flaw.
A speck of a zit? Delete.
A slightly oily forehead? Delete.
Any angle that revealed a semblance of a double chin? Delete!
And on the flip side: any angle that created the illusion of bigger boobs? Keep, keep, keep!
By the time I was finished it was half past ten, and I’d gone from my original two hundred and sixty photos, right down to forty-three. I crossed my fingers as I sent him a “friend request.”
Please don’t think I’m gross!
I brushed my teeth and soon drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a world where he’d find my face agreeable.
***
The next morning I awoke to five new e-mails. Three of them were comments from last night’s blog post (yeah, as if I care right now), and one was a “friend acceptance” from James (hooray!).
A final e-mail was written by the man himself.
I opened his e-mail first.
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Good morning Roms.
Nice to see we are “friends” now.
Enjoy your day.
J
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I beamed with delight, and my smile cracked the patches of dried-up drool that were covering my cheeks.
Before I could hop, skip and dance my way to the bathroom, I suddenly remembered Facebook, and the fact that I could now view his profile.
My stomach switched the dial to “eeek!” as I nervously clicked on his page.
I sighed with relief at his “single” relationship status.
Then I saw his five hundred friends, which was another big sigh of relief. Hopefully some would serve as character witnesses later in our “online relationship.”
And the best part of all? His picture was not a fake!
He was everything his first picture claimed, with a sparkling pair of blue eyes to boot!
I could see all this from photos he’d posted of his nights in Barcelona, and trips to all of Spain’s most popular beaches. I smiled as I clicked from picture to picture, soaking in his sexy appearance.
By the tenth picture, my smile transformed into a neutral purse of the lips. Is that girl just his friend? What’s with his arm around her shoulder?
By the twentieth picture I was squirming in bed. Are there THAT many beach babes in Spain? By the thirty-sixth and final picture, I was frozen in disbelief.
I closed my laptop and tried to erase the images from my mind, but how could I? Some hot friends here, a bunch of bikini-clad bombshells there, it was culture shock of the cruelest kind. I lived in Canada, where not only did the average-looking girls outnumber the hotties, but where six months of the year we didn’t worry as much about our abs or legs or asses. We were too busy sporting our thick denim and puffy winter coats.
I felt like I was going to be sick, but I didn’t like the thought of mixing any vomit with my morning breath. So I forced it down and rose to brush my teeth.
Feeling zero desire for food of any kind, I went straight from the bathroom to bed, and back to my dangerous laptop.
I clicked through his pictures again, as masochism took its hold. Had he no ugly friends? And why did the appearance of female friends out-number the males? And were those girls even only his friends? There was a hidden desire in those glitter-coated eyes, I could sense it. And did he really have to frequent all those bunny-laden beaches? Couldn’t he just get a spray tan and call it a day?
I left for work with no real answers to go on, and only a vague recollection that I’d woke up with a beaming smile...
Chapter Nine
On the train in to work I closed my eyes tight and tried to take a nap. Too bad for me I remained wide-awake, as I couldn’t stop obsessing over James’s local hottie surroundings. But was I even surprised? As if he’d willingly go where the “uglies” were at. Not that unfortunate-looking women were confined to certain places. Well maybe the library.
My brain wasn’t even making sense anymore, for goodness sake I loved the library! It was all his fault for leaving me with so many questions.
MEN!
When I finally arrived at the office, an e-mail to James was the first thing I wrote:
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Hey James,
Nice pictures! You sure seem to run with a hottie social circle ;-)
Romi
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The “wink” in my message was only for show. I was angry. It was crazy to feel all this rage towards a guy I’d only e-mailed for a couple of weeks. Even crazier was that my emotions fake or real were confined to concrete words and typed-out winks.
Who even “winks” in real life? That would be the creepiest shit ever!
I twirled a strand of hair ferociously between my fingers, almost enjoying the pain.
Before ever drawing any blood from my scalp, I released the hair as his e-mail response rolled in.
Well that was fast.
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Hello Roms,
That’s a small bite of the Catalonian spir
it that breathes through this city, you should taste it one day. Moving to this city was an easy decision I can assure you.
How is Canada today? Still covered in a blanket of snow?
Warmest regards,
J
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My stomach rolled around in my body three times. I felt wretched, and then I felt wretched for feeling wretched.
I did not like being the lowly street rat in this tale of two Internet hearts. And NO it’s not still winter in Canada, and NO I’m not jealous!
To top it all off, did he have to sound so smart and proper in all his e-mails? It was attractive of course, but not when it made my e-mails sound like ghetto-trash. How did he even get so distinguished-sounding? Probably all that time spent writing screenplays. Ohhh, you’re so fancy!
I needed a good comeback response. Perhaps I could drop in a line that made fun of Spain, so he would feel like a loser for living there.
What was in Spain anyway? Sexy dancing. Awesome food. Beautiful weather…
DAMMIT!
I tried something different by Googling “Why Spain sucks.”
Most of the responses were in Spanish (so Spaniards hated Spain?), or focused on the theme of why Spain “doesn’t” suck.
You’ve failed me, Google!
Throughout the day I read his e-mail many more times, hoping it would sprout some ideas. On the tenth read, I heard a voice that made me jump in my chair.
“Well, well, well, what’s going on over here? Sending personal e-mails at work?”
I let out a gasp as my boss Todd hovered right above me.
I turned with a reddened set of ears but composure in my voice. “You know how it is boss, I’m a popular gal.”
“You? Popular? Don’t make me laugh. Who the hell’s James?”
Todd leaned in closer, trying to read off the screen.
“Stop reading it, loser!” I closed down the page as quickly as I could. “It’s no one. And besides, is it wrong to have some friendly male correspondence? It doesn’t always have to be romance.”
“Who said anything about romance? I’m more concerned about stalking. Like I’m worried for the guy you’re stalking in that e-mail. Seriously Romer, don’t harass people on the Internet, it’ll get you into trouble.”
“I am NOT a stalker! Anyway he’s just a friend. Mild acquaintance more like.” I couldn’t look Todd in the eye, and he noticed.
“Dude...oh no. This is not some guy you met on the Internet is it? Are you ‘cyber-dating’? Because I’ll tell you right now, whoever he is, add thirty years and a criminal record.”
“What? Cyber-dating? Me? I may be single but I’m not desperate. HAHAHA. HAHAHAHAHA.”
Was he buying it?
Todd cocked his head and eyed me strangely.
“Alright,” he said. “Time to get the critters from daycare. Now don’t be a loser and work ‘till five o’ clock or anything.”
“Yeah, like I’m gonna work ‘till five for YOU.”
Todd smiled and shuffled away, with my psycho-cyber-cover still in tact.
As soon as he was gone I packed up my belongings too.
Time to help Laura find the perfect dress, and time to admit I have an Internet problem.
***
I browsed through the aisles of Tiffany and Co., my face all aglow from the light bouncing off the pretty jewels. I was totally entranced by the engagement rings, but it was less an ancient demand that floated in my head (drilled inside by modern society, bridal magazines and girly competition), and more an obsession with the meaning of it all. To think that a man, any man, would spend so much money on a piece of rock, to tell her she was his for good. Did guys really do that? What an incredible feeling it would be, to no longer fear getting dumped.
“Would you like to try one on?”
I jumped at the sound of the Tiffany’s associate, and his surprisingly friendly voice. Why would he even ask?
Maybe I looked like a classy girl with a wealthy boyfriend. And why not? I was wearing a pink and satiny shirt that tied in the front with a puffy bow (one of my recent purchases, after Laura once told me I dress like a bag of shit…a girl never forgets). I looked like money, it was true.
I stood frozen as I stared at the elf-like associate, with his delicate gestures and disturbingly small hands.
Finally I answered. “Uhh...no. I, I, I...” I wasn’t really sure why my mouth seized up, but all I could do was gurgle with a wide-eyed freak-girl expression. What I wanted to say was that a girl who hasn’t dated in two (and a half) long years shouldn’t be trying on twenty-thousand-dollar engagement rings. But it wasn’t my favourite conversation.
The Tiffany’s elf looked disturbed and glided away, with Laura quickly taking his place.
“So are you ready to be my very own personal shopper?”
“Absolutely. Bring on the skanky-dress stores!” I laughed and patted her on the shoulder.
“You need to shut the hell up. But…we will be visiting the skanky-dress stores.”
And off we went, to find my friend something sexy with a dash of smut.
***
“I am NOT comfortable with this. It shows all the curves of my ass!”
I rolled my eyes. “When will you learn that the curves of your ass drive all the men wild? And it’s pink. And it’s a halter dress. Hot arms, hot shoulders, hot ass, what’s the problem?”
Laura was on dress number twenty at the seventh store we’d visited. I was tired, but I still understood her need for the perfect look.
“I’m scared that it shows too much!”
“Okay, let’s just clarify your goals a bit. On a scale of ‘one to provocateur’ how provocative do you really wanna look?”
“Umm....six?”
“Only a six?” I shook my head. “Well now I have a whole new vision in mind. Let’s hit up the Guess Store next.” Laura changed back into her navy blue suit as I considered my secret plot. The Guess Store was at the opposite end of the mall, so as we made our way down there I would bring up the Internet guy.
We walked through the mall inhaling the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon buns (that our diets wouldn’t ever let us eat). The calming smell made it feel like the perfect time to talk.
“So Laura, I need some advice...about a guy.”
“OH MY GOSH YOU MET A GUY?” Everyone around us turned to have a look. None of those looks were from sexy men who wanted a piece of me. Mostly just from grannies, or from teenage boys with oily T-zones.
“First of all quiet down,” I whispered. “And secondly, it’s a little more tricky than that.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry! Tell me everything.”
We now walked along at a slower pace, while my heart on the other hand quickened its beat.
“Well, I came across him a month ago, and we’ve been...corresponding regularly. For basically the last two weeks.”
“What do you mean by ‘corresponding’?”
“Well you know...” I took a quick breath. “E-mail.”
Laura snapped her head back, in a “possessed by a demon” kind of way. “Wait a minute. How did you meet him? Like online dating? Who is he anyway? What do you really know? And also...what the hell are you doing?”
“ALL valid questions. He’s this guy I met through my blog. He’s a writer too, actually a screenwriter. So you know, that’s a major plus point.” My voice grew quicker as I tried to justify it all. “He’s also really clever. Oh, and really hot. I know the hot part is true because we’re friends now on Facebook. Plus he has lots of Facebook friends, who all seem fine with his title of ‘screenwriter.’ Which means he’s totally telling the truth!” I looked at her and smiled.
Please don’t think I’m a psycho!
“Okay...but what comes next after flirting? Are you guys gonna date? Like don’t you have to MEET him to date? And where does he even live?”
I squinted my eyes for this one: “Right now he’s living far away.
In Barcelona.”
A few seconds passed before she finally spoke. “Okay...I don’t really know what to say to that.”
“Trust me neither do I. Like this hot writer guy just fell into my life. And it’s not like we’re dating of course. But it’s every day, this constant contact.”
“Right…”
“And I ask myself...why? Especially now when I can see just how vibrant his life really is. Like trust me, his friends and I mean female friends are smokin’. Or who even knows if they’re only friends? Aren’t Europeans supposed to be slutty? And if the pictures are any clue, he goes to the beaches all the time. And that doesn’t even include the topless ones!” I sighed and dropped my ass on the nearest bench.
Laura sat down next to me and waited ‘til I met her gaze. “Dude, why are you freaking out?”
I pulled at the puffy satin bow of my shirt. “I’m just not sure why he’s talking to me. He has everything he needs in his three-dimensional life.”
“Well first of all stop being so emotional. And secondly you’ve had a pen pal for a couple of weeks. That’s it. Don’t you need to get a little further before you start to act all psycho?”
She had a point. I would usually wait a bit longer before “obsession-mode.”
“Why don’t you guys start chatting online?” she suggested.
“NO.” I shook my head. “I’m actually glad we haven’t done that. Like if I’m going all crazy just from e-mails and pictures, can you imagine how I’d be if I saw him online and he didn’t respond?”
“Right, you’re way too crazy for that. Then you guys need to talk on the phone.”
The blood rushed straight to my cheeks. “The phone? But that’s so...relationshipy.”
“What are you, twelve years old? Talking on the phone is NOT a relationship. And besides, what if he has a high-pitched voice like Mike Tyson? You need to figure all that out before you go any further. But he’s got a good start with the sexy accent. He’s Spanish right?”
“Actually no. He’s an ex-pat living in Spain. So just American I guess.” I sighed. “But yeah, I hope he doesn’t sound like Tyson. Anyway this all sounds great, but there’s one problem left: how do I bring up the phone chat? That’s a huge step from e-mail.”