The first date was fantastic. They were instantly attracted to each other. Both imagined their kids as gorgeous amalgamations of gorgeous people. He had a full head of hair and her breasts were real. It was a match made in Heaven. Good thing he wasn't aware of that.
The second date was better. Conversation was actually paid attention to amid a walk along the beach near the Santa Monica pier. She was from a healthy family; he was from a healthy family. The biological match was near perfect. Good thing he didn't mention that.
The third date... well... that's not going so well. Oh, sure, it started great. Typical courting process and all. A good movie followed by a good dinner (both are far too pragmatic to eat before a film... all those annoying bathroom breaks and the threat of audibly embarrassing bodily functions). Then a picnic under the stars on an undeveloped hill in Antelope Valley. Both loved to drive, even through Los Angeles traffic, so the commute North was simply a part of a romantic evening. Each of their last partners suffered from malicious road rage, but that's beside the point.
"Look at all those stars," she said. "God sure knows how to put us in awe of the night."
He spit out his wine, stifling a sarcastic laugh. "I'm sorry?"
"What?" she asked. "Did I say something funny?"
"I hope so."
"You are joking, aren't you?"
And now we're caught up. Obviously, the cosmic shit just hit the metaphysical fan. I'm sure you've all heard how these conversations quickly devolve into insult-slinging mudfests, and this one is no different. I apologize for the soliloquizing, but I know I've heard this one far too many times. She's baffled that he doesn't believe in God... he seems so charming. He's dumbfounded that she does... she seems so educated. Clearly, something is lost in translation like a holy book from Greek to Latin.
Christian explanation followed by scientific explanation. Empiricist versus rationalist. Noah's Ark predated by Utnapishtim's Ark. Assumption versus evidence. It's a laugh. I'm laughing now. As you might be, depending on your perspectives. But I'm laughing. They're not. But then, they're the joke, aren't they?
It gets really funny when he starts calling her out on her Catholic beliefs. Funny how people within organizations tend to be ignorant of those organizations, isn't it?
"What do you mean you don't know what the Jesus cookies are called?" He sounds incredulous. He thinks he's checkmated her. She knows he's lost any chance of getting her panties off. Because, let's face it, Catholic or not, the third date is the sex date.
"Hosts. They're called hosts. What Catholic school did you go to?"
"You're an asshole."
"Oh," he says with a laugh, "the church girl is resorting to cussing at me. That's another thousand years of purgatory for you."
"Okay, monkey boy."
He rolls his eyes. "For the last fucking time, evolution does not state we came from monkeys. You theists always deny real truth. I suppose you've got a fucked up interpretation of the Big Bang, too."
"Do you even know who came up with the Big Bang theory?" She's tired of this, but somehow revels in it. Politics and religion, eh?
"Does it matter?"
"Sure, Mister Know-it-All. Georges Lemaître. A Catholic priest." There's a pause, then she inches closer to his throat. "Where's your logic now, jerk?"
"It's better than your magic."
"Shut the fuck up and take me home."
And that is the end of that. Now, being the narrator of this story and totally in control of this literary time-line, I can tell you that the fourth date went much better. Her angry silhouette among the stars really only turned him on even more. And his theological confusion only made her feel sorry for him.
I'm pretty sure their children wound up Buddhists.
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