“They don’t even wear nametags,” I said.

“Oh—”

“Yeah—I’ve been going to this social thing for one year, and it seems like it will take another two, just to be one of their group.”

“Uh-huh—”

“Problem is, I don’t know that I want to be one of their group.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah—it’s always a let-down.”

“Then, why do you go?”

“Well—I have to do something… this is probably the situation most people like me, find themselves in.”

“So, you are looking for something else?”

“No, not really. I mean—it’s just so difficult to find a good group. All the places I’ve been are the same. There’s a bunch of awkward people who don’t have any friends, who gather together, and are awkward together.”

“Why can’t you find a good group?”

“I did this online meetup thing, and, well, the people there, were all pretending…”

“Pretending?”

“Yeah. I joined an art group, and everyone wore artsy clothes and pretended to have money. The guys all had neck beards and wore straw hats. The girls had their noses in the air.”

“Have you tried anything else?”

“I tried being alone. That worked pretty well, but after a while, I realized, without a social life, I’m just like them.”

“You don’t have a neck beard.”

“I know. I went to a writer’s group, and nobody was published, but they all gave me writing advice—it was advice on how to be a loser.”

“That’s pretty judgmental.”

“I know, but I don’t know how else to say it.”

“Why don’t you just stick it out? Put in the time? Maybe, somebody will come along that you like.”

“I don’t think so. The girls in that group are all the same. When you talk to them, they say, ‘We went to Hawaii,’ or ‘We are planning a trip,’ but these girls aren’t in relationships. They’re just afraid of being asked out.”

“How do you know?”

“Well—one of them hit-up my friend on Instagram. This girl’s not with anybody. And you know what? —she already has three kids, and she’s past the age of thirty—I would say, 35. And I wasn’t even hitting on her. I was just making my rounds—talking to people.”

“I know what you mean. Girls are always trying to be subtle, but they’re not. I wish they’d just come out and say, ‘I don’t like you!’ And I would say, ‘I don’t like you either!’ And then we could relax.”

“Finally, somebody who understands me. What bothers me, is these women think they’re all that—and it takes well into their 40s to realize they’re going to die alone.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“Well—the truth hurts.”

“You know what? —I don’t like you very much.”

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