A Girl Like You by vinnie Kinsella (good books to read for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

to ask if they could raise chickens in their backyard.”

“Can they?” Eddie asked.

“Only if they have a very large lot,” I sighed.

“Well, a crap job is all the more reason to get out and have some fun.”

“No thanks,” I said, hanging up the dishtowel.

“So, it’s called Go Fish,” Eddie said, opening my laptop.

“Well see, right off the bat, that’s a stupid name,” I sat down at the table with him anyway.

“I think it’s rather clever. And besides, it’s free.”

“Free?”

“Yes, little miss budgeter, free.”

I pulled my chair over as Eddie put on his glasses and logged onto the site. There was a graphic of a couple sitting on a dock with fishing poles in water full of cartoon hearts.

“See, right there, that’s so dumb. Maddy’s on Tinder—why don’t I just try that, if you’re gonna force me to put myself out there?”

“How do I put this diplomatically?” Eddie pursed his lips. “That’s for kids, and the last time you dated, phones had cords.”

“Thanks for the diplomacy.”

“Shush. OK, let’s write your profile. Age?”

“Forty-nine,” I said with assurance.

“Seriously? You’re going to subtract eight years from your age?”

“You think I should go with forty-five?” I asked hopefully.

“Let’s just go with forty-nine, then,” Eddie said.

“Are you saying I couldn’t pass for forty-five?”

“I’m not saying that, sweet pea. Tell you what, I’ll give you an extra inch on the height and say 5'5".”

“It doesn’t ask weight, does it? I’m not saying my weight. God, even I don’t want to know my weight; I’ve successfully avoided the scale at the Y.”

“Calm down… it does ask your body shape: athletic, average, couple extra pounds, or BBW?”

“Oh my God, don’t you dare put down a couple extra pounds,” I howled. “Even though that’s technically what I am.”

“Average it is.”

We clicked through a list of questions:

Is religion important to you?

“I should say yes, right? I’m Lutheran.”

“When was the last time you were in church?”

“OK, no,” I said.

“Would you describe yourself as spiritual?”

“Yes, that’s a definite yes,” I said confidently.

“What kind of music do you like?”

“I don’t know what to say—everything but that loud, obnoxious post-hardcore punk crap Ian listens to.”

“Variety,” Eddie said, typing. “Are politics important to you?”

“Should I say yes? I should say yes, right?”

“You should tell the truth,” Eddie said.

“OK, well, in election years yes; other times not as much as I should be.”

“What’s your profession?”

“Oh, shit, does it really ask that? I’m a clerk…no, wait, put down writer.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows.

“I write,” I said indignantly.

“OK, now to the good stuff,” Eddie said. “How would you describe yourself in one word?”

“Mom.”

Eddie shook his head.

“How about ‘dog lover?’ Men like dogs, right?”

Eddie sighed. “That’s two words, and the idea here is to be enticing.”

“Writer?”

Eddie rubbed his eyes. “How about ‘adventurer?’”

“Yeah, well, then they’ll think I like to do things, you know, adventurous. I don’t think walking around the block with Penny makes me an adventurer.”

“Wait, I know, there is a word that describes you—let me think,” Eddie drummed his fingers on the table. “Means you like smart people.”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, thankfully, you don’t have to be smart to love smart people,” Eddie said. “Let me Google it.”

I got up to pour wine.

“That’s it! Sapiophile: a person who is sexually attracted to highly intelligent people!”

“Hmm.”

“What do you mean, hmm?” Eddie said, accepting his wine glass.

“I mean, won’t people have to Google it to know what it means?”

“The smart people you’re trying to attract will know what it means, silly.”

“If you say so,” I said uncertainly.

“I do. Now, what are you looking for? Casual dating, LTR, or someone to marry?”

“What the hell’s a LTR?”

Eddie sighed and took a deep drink of his wine. “Long-term relationship, dear. Are you looking for that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Babe, you gotta know what you want before you go looking.”

“That was incredibly philosophical. Hold on while I call Hallmark.”

“Ha ha ha,” Eddie said.

“I guess casual dating.”

“Nope.”

“That’s not what I’m looking for?”

“That means you’re looking to hook up,” Eddie said patiently. “You know, DTF?”

“What the hell is that?”

“Let’s just say if a guy asks if you are DTF, tell him no immediately.”

“What is it?”

Eddie sighed. “It means down to, and then the F-word.”

“Well, that’s interesting.”

Eddie shrugged. “Everybody’s DTF at some point. Except you, that is,” he looked at me over the top of his glasses.

“Maybe I am DTF,” I defended myself. “After all the boring sex I’ve had, maybe I want to try new things.”

“You said the sex was good with Bryan, missy.”

“Not at the end,” I sighed. “It was nonexistent. So now I’m ready. Bring it.”

“Good for you, Little Miss Frisky. You are free to go explore.”

“Thank you.”

“Just don’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

“What does that mean?”

Eddie sighed. “Don’t let anyone talk you into anything. Go with your gut.”

“I plan to. And also go with other body parts a bit further south.”

“What has gotten into you?”

“Like you said, I’m free to do what I like. Maybe it’s time to let my hair down.”

“As long as you keep your wits about you.”

We both drank from our wine glasses.

“And also prepare to be ghosted,” Eddie said. “A lot.”

“Ghosted?”

“It’s when someone messages you for a while—or even meets you—then disappears. Poof! And you have no idea what happened.”

“God, that sounds terrible!”

“You think that’s bad, wait until you’ve been ‘mosted,’” Eddie continued.

“Explain, please.”

“It’s a new phenom where you go out on several dates and are led to believe you’re the most wonderful person in the world, that you’re everything they’ve been looking for, and then—”

“Then they run? Ugh, that’s even worse. I would never ‘most’ someone.”

“Never say never, Jess.”

I got up and poured some pretzels into a bowl.

“Hey, can I put in there ‘looking for someone with good grammar’?”

Eddie took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “What are you talking about, Jess?”

“You know how I am about spelling and grammar…I just don’t want texts from a guy that mixes up there, their, and they’re.”

“No one likes a grammar snob, sweetie.”

“Fair enough.” I scowled at him.

“Now, let’s pick a good profile name.”

“I’m assuming we don’t use our own.”

“Right, chicky.