There have been rumors circulating among our book club circle that I'm dating someone. I'd just like to be on the record and say that is absolutely not true. Fake news, alternate facts, complete fabrication. I have no charm, no sexiness, and zero personality to pull anyone. I'm about as romantic as a tax return and as smooth as chunky peanut butter. So whoever started these rumors clearly has me confused with someone interesting. Kelly's been acting suspicious, though.
And I can tell she's a little sad about it, which is weird because she's got her own dumpster fire of a life to worry about right now. Speaking of which, Kelly filed for divorce. Remember how I said she might take him back? Well, she did. For exactly three days. Then a woman came out of the woodwork. Actually, scratch that. Multiple women came out of the woodwork, like cockroaches when you turn on the kitchen light. Apparently, the husband has three or four other women on his Rolodex.
There's a whole detective Facebook page dedicated to tracking his movements, complete with maps, timelines, and screenshots. It's like making a murderer, but with more care and energy and fewer production values. One woman even created a spreadsheet. A spreadsheet with color coding. So that marriage is over and done with, signed, sealed, and delivered straight to a lawyer's office. But back to me. I'm not dating anyone. Damn you rumors.
I'm all about doing yoga, reading self-help books, and definitely not dating anyone. Just me, my downward dog, and Brene Brown audiobooks. Aw, who am I kidding? I'm totally dating someone. Plot twist, the rumors were true. I'm as shocked as you are, honestly. Marissa is her name. She's 27, a former college cheerleader, way out of my league. Like different stratosphere out of my league. We're talking Premier League versus my local Sunday pub team level of difference here.
And I met her at the library. Yes, I'm smart, I read books, I'm intellectual and cultured. Okay, fine. I went into P and I bumped into her on my way out. The romance is practically Shakespearean, isn't it? Where for out thou, Romeo? In the public restroom, apparently. We spoke, she laughed at something I said, which is miraculous because Kelly once told me my sense of humor is like rubbing sandpaper on your balls.
Anyway, with that image now permanently scarring your brain, I'm happy to say it is our two-week anniversary. Two whole weeks! That's practically a lifetime in modern dating terms. We're basically common law married at this point. I want to introduce her to Kelly, but I've been avoiding it until today. Partly because I'm nervous, and partly because Kelly's been in a burn it all down mood since the divorce proceedings started. She doesn't know about Marissa yet. Should I tell her?
Give her a heads up, send a carrier pigeon? Nah. I've decided to bring Marissa to our book club tonight. Let it be a fun surprise. What could possibly go wrong? Everything could go wrong. Utter fucking disaster. None of the book club members were nice to Marissa. Not even politely fake nice, which is basically the foundation of all female relationships. They were all horrible to her. Passive aggressive comments, cold shoulders, the works.
Apparently, one of the girls Googled her within the first five minutes and found a photo of her hunting deer from like three years ago. It was on page six of Google Images, which means someone was dedicated to finding dirt. Now, I know hunting is controversial, especially in our granola-crunching oat milk drinking circle. But come on. We've all done dumb things. Sarah once admitted to voting for a reality TV star in a local election as a joke.
Yet somehow Marissa's decade-old hunting photo makes her public enemy number one? Kelly was the worst, though. She absolutely hates Marissa. Like, visible disdain radiating off of her like heat from asphalt in July. But I couldn't work out if it was the deer thing or something else entirely. There was this moment where Marissa laughed at one of my jokes, and Kelly's face did this thing, like she'd bitten into a lemon filled with wasps. And here's the really weird part.
Kelly's been looking at me funny lately. Like I'm a buffet, and she's been fasting for a week. Lingering glances, standing too close, finding excuses to touch my arm. Am I reading too much into it? Probably. Definitely. She's just gone through a divorce. She's emotional, it doesn't mean anything. Right? Right. But now I'm not too sure about Marissa. Not because of the hunting thing. Honestly, I don't really care about that. People change. It was years ago.
But if my friends hate her this much, how would my parents react to her? My mother, who's already disappointed I'm not dating her friend's more appropriate niece. My father, who will probably try to sleep with her because that's just what he does. Ugh, this is getting complicated. Love is supposed to be simple, isn't it? Girl meets girl in a library bathroom. Girl and girl fall in love. Girl's best friend inexplicably despises girl for questionable Instagram content from 2019.
Tale is old as time. I don't know. Maybe I'm overthinking this. Maybe Kelly and the book club will come around. Or maybe I need to find new friends who don't conduct FBI little background checks on people before the appetizers arrive. Either way, two weeks in and I'm already questioning everything. Is this what love feels like? Because it mostly feels like anxiety with occasional hand holding. Tune in next week for and I'll probably make this situation even worse somehow. Spoiler alert I will.