Page 77 of Experiments in Offline Dating

“Oh, nothing!” I coughed for no reason. “I was just saying that I doubt that . . . very much . . .” That’s just the same thing! You’re saying the same thing! “. . . thought . . . went into . . . this date . . . from Jackie, you know.” That’s worse! That’s so much worse! My eyes went wide. “Because . . . my hair is getting messy with all this wind!” Oh, holy hell! I tried to laugh. I sounded like a parrot with a respiratory disease.

Peggy gave me an odd look. The driver clicked his tongue and snapped the reins, and before I knew what was happening, we were rolling across the gravel and merging onto the road. I looked back at Tadhg one last time. And of course, when I did, that d-bag was laughing.

Chapter 19 A Brief Experiment in Love Triangles

“So, where are you from?”

The question came from mom rather than son.

“Oh. Um. San Francisco, California.”

“And what are you doing looking for an Irish husband?” And thus commenceth the interrogation.

“Oh. You know. Just.” Needed something for the podcast. “Gotta love that accent, right?”

She huffed. This, it seemed, was not the right answer. I looked to Dave, but he had his chin on his fist and was staring off, eyes glazed, at the scenery, not the least bit interested in anything that was going on inside the jaunting cart, nor outside, by the looks of it. Well. I guess this woman is my real date. At least Simone is going to be thrilled!

“Actually. Would you mind if I take a photo of the three of us?”

She narrowed her eyes a moment. “I suppose that would be fine, wouldn’t it, Davey?”

Davey shrugged.

I put the phone on my selfie stick, and we all looked to the back of the buggy so that we could get the horse and driver in the shot, mother and son smushed together for no reason, me firmly on the other side.

Then something dramatic happened. The horse did what all horses must do and pooped—big-time. It was a breathtaking quantity of poop. Peggy—only about a foot away from the drop zone—screamed.

Then she pounded on the side of the buggy. “Stop that! Stop it, I say!” I guessed this horse didn’t take orders from Peggy. Then she yelled at the driver. “This is a disgrace! This is supposed to be romantic. You’re charging us a pretty penny for this. I want a refund! You hear me?”

I was in heaven! I wished I could film it for Simone. I couldn’t wait to tell her! I knew, however, that laughter would not be welcomed at this juncture of the date, so I was sputtering, trying to hold it in. Tears started to swim. My eyes shot to Dave, thinking that he might also find this hilarious, but he didn’t look up from scrolling—as if anything on Instagram might be better than this.

Finally, Peggy sat back down with a huff and a few more threats.

“Aw. This photo is great!” I got an action shot. “Did Jackie mention to you that I may like to talk about this date on my podcast?”

She pursed her lips and made a face, clearly disgusted by my chosen profession. “He did. It was one of the conditions of the discount.”

“Oh, okay. If you change your mind, just let me know, but I’d love to be able to use these photos as well. Would that be all right?”

“Well.” She sniffed. “It’s not like anyone we know would listen to that, anyway.”

“Great. Thanks!” Because this angle goes right up your nostrils.

“So, this is what you do for money, then?”

“It sure is. I love it.”

“And you would cancel your little radio show if you actually found someone who wanted to marry you?”

“Cancel it?”

“It’s a dating show, for Christ’s sake.”

Well, she was a turd, but she wasn’t wrong, I had to give her that. What would I do? Would I lose everything? I supposed it would come down to what I wanted more—the man or my dream job. I knew it was a thing, but I never really gave it much thought because . . . well, I also didn’t have a contingency plan for the possibility of an alien invasion where I would be forced to marry a large harem of handsome, tentacled aliens who would keep me super-busy with ritualized group sexy-times either. I mean, technically, that could happen. But no, I didn’t have a plan.

“Well . . . things would have to change, certainly, but I don’t know. I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

The good news was, I was never going to come to it. Especially not with dates like these! Thanks, Peggy.