Congratulations to Jelisha who won $250 for her entry!
DATE DOWN THE TOILET...
by Jelisha G., Brooklyn, N.Y.
(Check out more of Jelisha's writing on her blog: www.letsunpacktherapy.com/blog)
“We need to talk.” Jason says an hour into our date, having barely touched my home cooked lasagna.
My mind raced with what he could possibly have to tell me. Did he have a warrant for his arrest? Was he going to ask me for gas money? Did he have hair on his back?
I had met “Marine345” on an online dating site two weeks prior. I was already convinced that we were indeed soul mates before he had even made the hour long drive to my campus apartment.
Aside from bracing myself for Jason’s confession, my belly was doing cartwheels and flips like a gymnast. I didn’t know if it was anxiety OR if the lasagna meat was perhaps undercooked. Understand that the latter was very likely as I was far from a cook, known to burn oatmeal and undercook rice.
I surrender to the fact that I am legitimately ill. In the midst of my nausea, I hang onto scattered key words that seem somewhat important, “.... a baby on the way....it was a fling ........really like you...she says it’s definitely mine......paternity test........maybe go on Maury....”
I can’t even process the absurdity of what he is saying because I am so overcome by the fiesta in my stomach.
Oh my God. Please No. I’m going to heave. I HATE throwing up, like worse than I hate peas.
There is no time to warn him as I stand to run towards the bathroom. He rises with concern blocking me...to his demise. Subsequently, I projectile-vomited onto his white collared shirt.
I heard the slam of my front door as I kneeled over the toilet letting go of my future with Jason, including my unknown desired role of a stepmother. All of my dreams went down the toilet. Literally.