randy the douche

randy the douche

Taylor introduced me to her boyfriend Randy. I’d never met him before but heard he was a douche. One of those loud talking tough guys. You know… ‘Bring me this! No! No! That!’

Randy’s one of those guys that struts around with confident shoulders that are wrinkled and weak beneath white creased tops. See, with words so ugly, you need a backup disguise.

Randy hides behind shallow praise from people someone supposedly once said were important. The kind of people that control more of your circumstances than you’d like to face up to.

Taylor once told me she liked Randy because ‘he listens…’

I wonder if he hears the same sounds shoot from his petrified lips every time a bell rings. Does stupidity sound sweet to the ears of the stupid?

I still love Randy because I could never survive a state of such sad delusion.

Usually though, before I meet someone in person… I try not to draw any conclusions.

Taylor and Randy arrive at the spot we’ve agreed upon. My local. Without trying to credit any preconceived notions, I can’t help but notice Randy doesn’t pull the chair out for Taylor. Doesn’t make eye contact when I feebly offer my left hand. Doesn’t hear when I say ‘Actually my name is Agnus… not Amy…’

‘Did you tell Amy we know where the ceremony’s gonna be?’ asks douche through a dusting of half chewed ciabatta bread. I clench my jaw.

‘Ummm… no?’ says Taylor like she’s asking for permission. It makes me grind my teeth a little. ‘Along the coast… somewhere north.’

‘Sounds sweet…’ I say ready to leave expressing an awareness of my fuse length.

‘But we haven’t even eaten yet,’ says Amy and I wish her eyes weren’t apologizing to me.

‘I’m not really hungry.’

Maybe I should’ve given douche more of a chance. Maybe I shouldn’t listen so much to what the crowds say. I’ll never be hip. I can’t keep up.

I guess the kid was right. Randy really is a douche.