We kissed. She melted. Mop, please!

after James Patrick Kelly

This whole thing — it’s not my fault. I just got caught up in the moment. Mary — her eyes — it was all so unusual, and after you’ve been around the speed dating track for long enough, that’s exhilarating. And I have certainly been around the track. I’ve spent five minutes with more Jessicas and Lilys and Rachels than I care to admit, or even to remember. I may just be some schlub from New Jersey, but I have perfected the technique for wowing a woman in between buzzers. My cellphone? Filled with numbers. Only problem is, you sign up for your sixth or seventh function, and soon you’re calling Ruby to ask her to get drinks, and she says dinner yesterday was lovely but no, and you realize — you can’t even tell them apart anymore. Guess I’m better in small doses. No one ever actually sleeps with me after they get to know me.

Mary was different. We made eye contact and it was like she could actually see me, all of me, all the bad parts, and they didn’t even matter to her. It was stupid, I guess, but I started imagining our wedding and smiling like an idiot, completely ignoring the chick who was sitting in front of me. Three buzzers later, Mary arrived at my station.

“Hi, I’m Mary,” she said, and I just leaned right in. All I could think about was kissing her, the feeling of those fluffy lips on my face. And then I leaned right back, of course, because her mouth went slack, and also because of the screams. Then Ruby was fainting, people were vomiting, blah blah blah, I called the ambulance myself — would I do that if I meant to kill her? — I called them, I’m all like, “Help, we kissed, she melted, mop please?” And all the while, Mary — my future bride, the only girl who has ever really seen me — was falling apart, her bones going soft, her stomach ripping open and spilling those precious, pristine guts out onto the stained carpet.