Millions of people get stood up every year. Our guest writer, Linda Fromly, thinks her experience makes her special, so we let her rant for a while to ease her frustration.
A stock image that almost captures the angst that Linda feels on the daily.
The hour hand on my wristwatch couldn't have moved any slower. With the small movement of every second, it felt like another boulder of guilt and anxiety was thrown on my already tender heart. After the short hand had trekked across the vast expanse of white between the five and six, it was dawning on me that I, Linda Fromly, a hot, desirable woman, had been stood up. And things were never going to be the same.
The Instant Connection That Turned Into The Instant Catastrophe
Dan and I never met in person, but there was a connection, because I was hot and desirable, and according to his online profile, he was too. There had to be something there. After we both typed "hi" in the chat box, I knew he was the one I was going to spend the rest of my life with.
He wanted to meet me for brunch, but I had my reservations because I read something online about online dating being dangerous. It took a month for my therapist to convince me to accept his offer. So there I was, sitting in a corner booth at the IHOP on West Stone St., nervously glancing at my phone to make sure I didn't miss a "I'm running late but we're soulmates so I'll be there" text.
That text was never received. I spent three hours anxiously waiting for a man who didn't realize what he was missing out on. As the time dragged on, I was turning into a monster, demanding free food to sooth the ache of my soul. I belittled the waitress, Amy, and made such a scene that she ran out of the restaurant weeping. To this day, she never entered another IHOP. But I didn't care about Amy. She wasn't hot and desirable, I was! The empty chair across from me fueled my rage. Why would Dan reject such a hot and desirable woman?
Six mimosas deep, I was the personification of a living nightmare, screaming my insecurities and pent-up guilt at the neighboring customers. I punted my seven-stack pancake platter across the room. Even the manager couldn't control me. My raspy voice screeched, "You don't know me! You don't live my life!" Nothing was rational anymore, nothing seemed worth it. Until the heavens opened up and smiled at me when the police arrived, ready to detain me, and I met eyes with the most hot, desirable officer named Hank. I knew my life was going to turn around.
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Hopes are up and broken dreams are forgotten.
Hank was everything Dan was not. Hank was there in person, while I was starting to think that Dan only existed online. Hank had deep, chocolate eyes that converged when looking at distant objects, while Dan's profile picture showcased his emerald green lazy eyes. Hank had a respectable career as a police officer, evident by his attempt to subdue me for "public intoxication." In all our online conversations, the only job Dan had ever mentioned was "that one summer gig in Omaha."
But within two minutes of meeting my soulmate, Hank, it became clear that our relationship would have a few hurdles to overcome. Namely, my looming criminal record and his occupation. But I wasn't worried. I know without a shadow of a doubt that in the oncoming centuries, the tale of "Hank and Linda" would replace the story of that dry, undramatic Shakespeare couple.
As Hank read me my Miranda rights, I struggled to focus on anything except his smooth, low voice. The rich timbre of a Brooklyn accent was one I could imagine waking up to, for at least the next six months.
Spending the night in jail, waiting for my mother to drive up from Tallahassee to make my bail, gave me the opportunity to reflect on the tragedy of the past 24 hours. Yes, I had lost the love of my life in Dan, but destiny smiled on me and brought Hank right into my hands.
As Hank came to release me, I believed I was getting ready to ride off into the sunset with my true love. But then I heard the worst sentence any hot, desirable woman can hear from the mouth of her soulmate. Time seemed to slow down as he turned to a fellow officer and said, "my wife made me a peanut butter and ham sandwich for lunch, and I can't wait to dig in."
Triumph turns to tragedy, and all hope is once again lost.
Who did this man think he was?? How could he expect me, a hot and desirable woman, to ever consider giving my precious heart to a man who would be so eager to consume meat?! As a vegan, I felt sick to my stomach. The world began to spin around me, and not from the six mimosas I had consumed, but from the terrible ramifications of this new revelation.
My heart sunk as I realized that yet again, the giant, meaty hand of fate had struck me across the face after toying with my heart. I was willing to compromise many things for my true love. Politics, beliefs, and family connections were all on the table. But to be with a man who would willingly eat a peanut butter and ham sandwich was a depth to which I could never sink. I was a hot, desirable woman with standards and self-respect. Can you imagine what Annabeth from my spin class would gossip about if I were to appear with such a monster of a meat-eating man? My fragile heart and ego couldn't handle what that would do to my public image. As I sat in the lobby of the police station, my leopard-print bodysuit stained with maple syrup and spilled orange juice, I thought that the wild events of my past day would forever remove any hope from my life. I, Linda Fromly, the hot and desirable woman who has over 26 Instagram followers, had been stood up, rejected, and jailed. I would never recover. Until I got in the cab of the most hot, desirable taxi driver named Gustav, and I knew my life was going to turn around.
We here at French Onion Soup do not condone the actions or thought patterns of guest writer, Linda Fromly. Although we find her life to be amusing, much like a Spanish soap opera, we would never advise our precious readers to consume six mimosas in one sitting, cuss out IHOP waitresses, or wear leopard-print bodysuits.
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