In 2003, I have this amazing first date. We meet for coffee. We talk for two hours. I buy us sandwiches. Then she gets in my serial killer van and we drive up the 1 to Malibu and walk hand in hand on the beach and then we sit on the rocks and I lean over and kiss her and she’s shocked but she likes it. Then, after two more dates, she calls me back and breaks up with me. She said our first date was amazing, but then this sarcastic mocking side of me came out on our next two dates and she can’t handle it. We went on to break up another five times over the next year until finally, I hurry her out of the restaurant so we can get to see BIG FISH on time and she had explicitly told me she wanted them to wrap up her dessert to go but I rushed her away before that could happen.
The worst thing I ever did to her, the most painful, was when she was sick at her parent’s home in Malibu and she needed some soup and crackers and she asked me to bring them to her. I asked her if there wasn’t someone else near by who could do that. I wanted to go to a party that night and I had writing to do all day. I’ve never been one to drive 20 miles to bring soup and crackers. I’m not big on making extravagant gestures with my time.
