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Lj Idol Week 11: Recency Bias
Jun. 9th, 2014 06:29 pmHer fingers hover above the buttons on her keyboard and she contemplates just closing her laptop and walking away.
It always ends the same, and she knows exactly how it’s going to go before she even types a single letter.
She’ll fill out the profile like she always does, agonizing over how much to say or how little to say and worrying that she doesn’t sound clever enough or that maybe she sounds too clever and people will think she’s a smartass and wondering if her photo is too bland or too boring and maybe she should sex it up a little.
But finally she will post it and then she will wait. Sometimes the hits will come fast and furious and sometimes they will trickle in, but most won’t be worth more than a glance and some will have lines that will make her cringe in horror and want to leave the internet forever.
Until finally there will be one, and he will seem nice and he will seem normal and their conversations will flow and it will turn into texting and it will still be going well and she’ll start to think that maybe this could actually be something.
They’ll set up a date and they’ll agree to meet, and she’ll be all kinds of nervous because she doesn’t date often and what if he is secretly a serial killer or a mugger? So she’ll give the details of her date to her girlfriends in case of an emergency and she’ll try on every outfit in her closet, and then off she will go.
Most likely she will meet him for coffee. Unless he is the adventurous sort, and then it will be a short hike or maybe a bike ride or maybe a dance class. But it will never be dinner. At least not at first. She’s learned that much in her years on earth.
Eight times out of ten, the first date will be awkward. He won’t look like his photo or he won’t be as funny in person or there will just be no chemistry and she might as well be having coffee with her brother.
The ninth guy will be great and she’ll love the way his eyes sparkle and he’ll make her laugh and she won’t be able to stop staring at him and she’ll want to see him again. He’ll tell her the whole time he wants to see her, too, and they will be laughing and smiling and he will even brush her hand, so there will be no reason to think he is lying. But then she’ll get home and he’ll never call and he won’t answer her texts and there will be one more guy she can forget about adding to her contact list.
The tenth guy won’t be as cute as the ninth guy, but he’ll be nice and a little shy and they’ll have similar interests and time will fly until suddenly it’s hours later than it is supposed to be. And this one will call and he also will text and they will meet again, and then again, and then again after that, and suddenly she will have a boyfriend and she won’t even be sure how that happened.
But it’ll be nice and she’ll like it and she’ll like him and they’ll fit together perfectly and they’ll make plans for down the road and she’ll see their future and she’ll think that maybe she’s falling in love and that maybe, finally, it is happening to her.
And then it will come. It always does. The nicest ones will do it person but the secret douchebags will do it by text or email. “It’s not you, it’s me.” “I’m just not ready for this type of relationship.” “This isn’t working anymore.”
And then just like that, it will be over and she’ll be alone in her house with her dog and her cat wondering what it was this time and why it can never just work out. And the blow will be crushing and depressing but also familiar in a painful sort of way.
And weeks will go by and maybe months and then she will be here again, fingers poised over a keyboard, wondering if it’s worth it.
It always ends the same, and she knows exactly how it’s going to go before she even types a single letter.
Except maybe someday it won’t.
So she places her fingers on the keys and tries again.
It always ends the same, and she knows exactly how it’s going to go before she even types a single letter.
She’ll fill out the profile like she always does, agonizing over how much to say or how little to say and worrying that she doesn’t sound clever enough or that maybe she sounds too clever and people will think she’s a smartass and wondering if her photo is too bland or too boring and maybe she should sex it up a little.
But finally she will post it and then she will wait. Sometimes the hits will come fast and furious and sometimes they will trickle in, but most won’t be worth more than a glance and some will have lines that will make her cringe in horror and want to leave the internet forever.
Until finally there will be one, and he will seem nice and he will seem normal and their conversations will flow and it will turn into texting and it will still be going well and she’ll start to think that maybe this could actually be something.
They’ll set up a date and they’ll agree to meet, and she’ll be all kinds of nervous because she doesn’t date often and what if he is secretly a serial killer or a mugger? So she’ll give the details of her date to her girlfriends in case of an emergency and she’ll try on every outfit in her closet, and then off she will go.
Most likely she will meet him for coffee. Unless he is the adventurous sort, and then it will be a short hike or maybe a bike ride or maybe a dance class. But it will never be dinner. At least not at first. She’s learned that much in her years on earth.
Eight times out of ten, the first date will be awkward. He won’t look like his photo or he won’t be as funny in person or there will just be no chemistry and she might as well be having coffee with her brother.
The ninth guy will be great and she’ll love the way his eyes sparkle and he’ll make her laugh and she won’t be able to stop staring at him and she’ll want to see him again. He’ll tell her the whole time he wants to see her, too, and they will be laughing and smiling and he will even brush her hand, so there will be no reason to think he is lying. But then she’ll get home and he’ll never call and he won’t answer her texts and there will be one more guy she can forget about adding to her contact list.
The tenth guy won’t be as cute as the ninth guy, but he’ll be nice and a little shy and they’ll have similar interests and time will fly until suddenly it’s hours later than it is supposed to be. And this one will call and he also will text and they will meet again, and then again, and then again after that, and suddenly she will have a boyfriend and she won’t even be sure how that happened.
But it’ll be nice and she’ll like it and she’ll like him and they’ll fit together perfectly and they’ll make plans for down the road and she’ll see their future and she’ll think that maybe she’s falling in love and that maybe, finally, it is happening to her.
And then it will come. It always does. The nicest ones will do it person but the secret douchebags will do it by text or email. “It’s not you, it’s me.” “I’m just not ready for this type of relationship.” “This isn’t working anymore.”
And then just like that, it will be over and she’ll be alone in her house with her dog and her cat wondering what it was this time and why it can never just work out. And the blow will be crushing and depressing but also familiar in a painful sort of way.
And weeks will go by and maybe months and then she will be here again, fingers poised over a keyboard, wondering if it’s worth it.
It always ends the same, and she knows exactly how it’s going to go before she even types a single letter.
Except maybe someday it won’t.
So she places her fingers on the keys and tries again.
