Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Anyway, I don’t need a man or anything. I might want one, but I don’t need one. I’m capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need anyone to save me or fix my life. Totally ridiculous. I don’t need flowers and butterflies, I really don’t.
I graduated in May, moved into my own apartment in June and started my job as a second-grade teacher in August. I’m totally nailing life.
Except…
Except dating isn’t any easier than it was in high school. Or college. Meaning it’s not great. Dating is basically three hours of talking to a stranger, which is stupid, right? I don’t enjoy that. I mean who enjoys that? Who? Who are those people? It’s weird. Dating is weird.
And as much as I don’t need a man, it’d be nice to have one. I’ll get better at dating though, I will. Practice makes perfect, right? That’s what I tell my students. They learn something new every week and it’s not always easy. Some lessons are trickier than others. Some kids learn at a different pace than others, and that’s okay. So I’m not as good at dating as my friends are. I’ll figure it out. Eventually.
The waitress stops back and takes our orders and the second she leaves Everly turns her attention on me.
“So, how’s the dating going?” Everly asks. “Have you gotten any more POD’s?”
“What’s a POD?” I ask her, confused.
“Proof of dick,” Everly says with a nod when we all stare at her.
“Is that what it’s called now?” Sophie asks while rubbing the side of her bump with a grimace.
“Not yet,” Everly says while swirling the straw in her glass. “But I’m trying to make it catch on. It’s a little classier than ‘dick pic’, don’t you think?” She takes a sip of her iced tea and then sets the glass down, brows raised as we all stare at her. “What?”
“How exactly are you intending to make it catch on?”
“I’m so glad you asked, Chloe. The thing is, I’m married, so no one is sending me POD’s anymore,” she begins.
“Right,” I agree. “I would hope not.”
“But you, my friend, are still dating, so I thought you could—”
“No,” I interrupt. “No. Stop talking.”
“All you need to do,” she continues anyway, “is reply to the dick pics you get and say, ‘Nice POD.’ Or even, ‘Nice POD, LOL.’”
“Nope, not doing it. I am not going to encourage dick pics so you can coin a new phrase. No.”
“Okay, no problem,” she says with a shrug. She’s quiet for exactly three seconds before her mouth opens again. “How about, ‘Why are you sending me a POD?’ That way you’re still delivering the branding message, but without the encouragement.”
I stuff a forkful of pasta into my mouth, glare at Everly and shake my head no.
“Well, I think it’s catchy.”
“Why do men do that?” I ask, glancing around the table in disbelief. “Do you know how many dick pics—”
“POD’s!” Everly interrupts.
“POD’s I get sent with nothing more than two words exchanged? They say ‘hey,’ I reply back ‘hi,’ and the next thing they send is a picture of their dick. It’s bizarre.”
“They want to prove they have a dick, obviously. In case you were worried they’re a eunuch.” Everly states this calmly, like it’s a reasonable explanation, while the rest of us stare at her. “Funny story, I was actually worried Sawyer might be a eunuch because he made me wait like, all night to have sex on our first date.”
That story is greeted by the three of us staring at her, silent.
“What? He’s not. I mean, he’s really not, if you know what I mean. He’s the opposite of—”
“We get it, Everly. Thank you.”
“Anyway,” Everly continues with her story. “A lot of men catfish their dick pics, so the only way to verify is in person anyway.”
“What?” I ask, tilting my head at her in confusion.
“You know, when they send a picture of some random dick from the internet, because it’s bigger than theirs.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Does that really happen?”
“All the time,” Everly says, nodding confidently. “I saw an article on it. On a blog.”
“Anyway,” Sophie interjects and turns to me. “Back to Chloe. How is the dating going?” She reaches behind her and rubs at her back while she talks.
“Well, I got asked to fuck a guy with a strap-on,” I mumble and stuff a piece of bread into my mouth.
“I’m sorry?” Everly asks, leaning forward. Sophie shifts in her chair uncomfortably, rubbing her bump, and Sandra sighs, because she’s already heard this story. Everly’s my best friend, but Sandra is my dating confidante. Everly is filled with good intentions, but she’s… a little invasive. She’s forever trying to set me up with guys she’s picked out and it’s just too much pressure. Plus if she actually managed to set me up with someone I liked she’d be so smug about it. And she’d probably follow me on the dates to watch and text me pointers.