I have never desecrated Shakespeare before, but I am tempted right now to chuck King Lear at my roommate. She can sense my unspoken desire just by glancing at the bent book and my white knuckles.
"Whoa, Mal," she says, backing through the doorway. "Don't get mad. It's just a blind date."
"I didn't ask to be set up. Again."
"Didn't you, though?" She twists her fingers around a curl of blond hair. "We were up until 3am the other night talking about how much it sucks to be single this time of year."
She is right, but I refuse to acknowledge that. "Carrie, it's October."
"I thought it was a weird choice, too. But to each her own." She spins around and races to her room down the hall. "He's picking you up at 6."
"I can't go!" I shout from the doorway. She has already disappeared into the pink depths that she shares with Kate.
"Yes, you can." Her head reappears. "Remember to be nice. You're his blind date, too."
I retreat to my room and stare at the ugly wallpaper for a few minutes while I fume. This will be the fourth blind date Carrie has set me up on. The fourth time she has done so without my permission.
First, there was Aaron. He was slimy and left trails of grease across the screen of his smartphone, which he did not set down for the entirety of our pizza dinner. Also, he chewed with his mouth open. The date was cut short when I excused myself to throw up in the restaurant bathroom. He took me home shortly thereafter, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on his phone.
Then, there was Jack. Jack didn't speak except to tell me things that were wrong with me. My necklace was crooked. My hair was out of place. My lip curled up on one side. I had a stupid major. I breathed funny. Fortunately, I did one thing right that evening; he didn't complain when I asked to go home.
Last came Kyle. Kyle was Carrie's cousin. Kyle flirted with other girls while we were out. By the end of the night, Kyle still didn't know my name.
Most single women of a certain age have their own list. I know I'm not the only one.
Tired of the yellow wallpaper, I close my bedroom door gently and stare at the pictures hiding on the back side. I stole them all from the internet, but the markings are my own. I drew the red pizza sauce spilling from Aaron's mouth. I drew the horns on Jack's head. I drew the arrows through Kyle's chest. They are just three among hundreds of pictures, hundreds of ill-matched dates. Each picture is unique, but they all have something in common: I have crossed out their eyes with a bright red marker.
You're his blind date, too.
I decide that there is always room for one more picture. I put on my favorite outfit--the navy blue dress and the gray shoes--and tie my hair up in a ballerina bun. It is the same thing I do for every blind date (Jack thought it was boring), but tonight I do something different.
I sit down in front of the mirror and gaze over the familiar flesh of my face. My makeup is so-so, applied quickly as I rushed out to school this morning. Carrie usually suggests that I do smokey eyes for a date, but I will do something shocking tonight. I will do something to end all blind dates. The blind date of all blind dates.
It takes me a while to get it right, but I am satisfied with my work.
The doorbell rings right at 6pm. I fumble around in the dark of our apartment before I finally answer the door. When he sees me, my date screams. He screams and screams. My roommates come running from their hiding spots. They scream, too.
I smile, and my lip curls up on one side. I dab a streak of blood from my cheek. "Do I look that bad? What's wrong?"
No one responds except with more screaming. I think someone is dialing 911--I can't quite tell. I remain at the open door, plastering on my most polite, practiced smile.
"What's wrong?" I repeat. "I'm just a blind date."
I don't think any of these unread dimwits appreciates the way my work references Oedipus and Gloucester. According to literary canon, I have joined the best of tragic company. I am as tragic as I feel.
The screaming does not stop, but I was promised an evening out. Annoyed, I set my gouged and bloodied eyeballs on the kitchen counter and shuffle out the door without them to treat myself to a blind date.
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