Sometimes, it might actually be better to pay a hooker who leaves right after than to wake up next to a woman who’s lost her sparkle from the night before, says my friend Martin.
We’re driving through Berlin in his car, with lounge music playing softly on the radio. It’s just right for the way I’m feeling—kind of drained.
“I gave up on that a long time ago,” I reply proudly. Well, that’s not entirely true. I still slip up every now and then. But honestly, there’s nothing worse than waking up next to a woman you don’t find attractive anymore. The makeup’s gone, the opaque tights and high heels are on the floor, and her butt looks twice as big now that the tight skirt isn’t holding it all together. She hasn’t shaved, and you’ve got raw patches on your inner thighs from her stubble.
Just as you’re struggling to come to terms with reality and your hangover, she opens her eyes. She smiles sheepishly, and for a moment, you feel guilty. How could it have come to this? How did things end so badly?, you wonder. Now I’ve overlooked her inner beauty and feelings and judged her solely on her looks. God, what a pig I am. After all, I was the one who approached her last night. Or was it the other way around? I can’t remember. Damn, I need some water and aspirin.
But I do remember one thing: she invited me back to her place. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here in her apartment, in her bed.
Then she goes on the offensive. She snuggles closer, gives me a kiss, and wants to cuddle. That was fine last night, but now? How do I get out of here? Actually, I really need to use the bathroom. Maybe that’s my chance to escape.
Then she starts talking about “us” and “we.” She dreams of “boyfriend and girlfriend.” NO. This is a huge misunderstanding. A terrible one. Eventually, I can’t take it anymore and tell her the truth. I try to be diplomatic, but she doesn’t seem to get it. Probably because she doesn’t want to get it. But I did tell her last night that I’m not looking for a girlfriend, just some fun. She said she only wanted fun, too. Just one night. Just a chance to let loose, she’d said. But now she’s forgotten all that and is asking what “we” are going to do today.
Her eyes say more than a thousand words: But couldn’t you at least pretend we’re together? Just for this moment, that would be enough. For now. Maybe tomorrow and the day after, too. And who knows? Maybe there could actually be an “us.” Please, just do me this favor.
I give her a goodbye kiss, gather my things, get dressed, and quietly head for the door. As I walk down the stairs, I swear to myself that I’ll be more careful in the future. No, this was just a slip-up! From now on, I’ll steer clear of one-night stands and makeup miracles. Better to keep looking for my dream woman.
Standing on the street, the midday sun shines on my face. Damn, I forgot to use the bathroom. Where even am I? How do I get home? I need to call Martin. Maybe he’s nearby and can come pick me up.
