Page 2 of Experiments in Offline Dating

Simone: Keep your shirt on. I’m just saying that the woman gets more than her fair share of creepy fan letters.

Maya: I do. Creep fest!

Simone: And she gets a lot of matches. So it’s not looks. It’s definitely her dating behavior.

Maya: It’s just the whole dating thing makes me so damn awkward. And sweaty. I overthink it. And I find myself saying the absolute stupidest shit. I don’t know what to do with my hands or my face. I get hyper-aware of my body language, which makes me flustered and weird.

Simone: We’ve had a few men mention that actually on-air. That one guy said you were like a Muppet on speed.

Maya: Yeah. I also do this horrible thing where, throughout the whole date, I can’t stop my eyes from drifting to their crotch.

Simone: Oh God. What?

Maya: I know! It’s not like I can see anything there. It’s not like I’d even want to! I only do it specifically because I keep telling myself not to do it! Like a nervous tic. Especially when eye contact becomes awkward.

Simone: I have no words.

Maya: There’s a causal correlation here. I get nervous that I’m going to act like a weirdo, so I try to focus on not being a weirdo, and the stress of it makes me act like a weirdo. Anyway, the point is that I try to be smooth and sexy and fascinating, but somehow I just always do . . . whatever is the exact opposite of that. I find it really hard to read people. But flirting is all about subtlety, and being mysterious, and playing it cool, and not saying what you mean, and perhaps not meaning what you say, or meaning more than what you say. And I never, never feel like I know what the hell is going on. I get in my own head about it, and it’s always just a shit show.

Simone: Well, thank God you’re such a fucking disaster artist, or I’d be out of a job, and hundreds of thousands of listeners would have a boring commute to work.

Maya: Happy to be of service.

Simone: And for those already typing out angry comments, why do you call yourself a spinster, Maya?

Maya: Well, dear listeners, I don’t do so lightly. Let’s review my personal qualifications, though for any proud spinsters listening at home, I urge you to make your own list of prerequisites, as we are all a special flavor of spinster.

Simone: Actually, that’s a great idea. Please send those in! We’d love to read them.

Maya: Ooo—yes, please. So, while you’re thinking of your list, here is mine.

Number one: I’m thirty-eight, never married, and I’ve never been in a genuine, serious relationship, and furthermore, I’ve never been in love. Frankly, I think the whole love thing is kinda strange and improbable.

Number two: I live with my parents. I know—I hear your collective groan—but rent in San Francisco is extortionate. I moved back in after college, and just . . . never left. And you know what? It’s actually pretty great. It’s financially practical, we share cooking and cleaning duties, and there’s a lovely cleaner who comes twice a week (hi, Tim!). The house is roomy, and we watch British murder mysteries together in the evenings. It’s just . . . comfortable. And not complicated. And I don’t see any reason why that should have to change. What else?

Simone: Cats.

Maya: Oh! Number three: cats.

Simone: Oh my God, way too many cats.

Maya: Never! Okay, yeah, maybe a little. Soooo . . . I may do a bit of fostering for my local shelter, and I maaayyy have had four foster fails.

Simone: Four. And that’s not counting the ones that you continue to foster. So sometimes you actually have more than four cats.

Maya: Correct.

Simone: How many do you have right now?

Maya: Six.

Simone: Six. In one house. Where they outnumber the humans two to one.

Maya: Okay, yeah. But there’s plenty of room, and they’re all such beautiful, fluffy, perfect little angels.

Simone: Last time I came over, one pissed in my purse.

Maya: Well, you shouldn’t have left it on the floor like that.