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They did not have good plumbing situations in medieval times.
One of the reasons I would turn down the option to time travel if it were ever offered to me. Sure, the dresses are pretty. But they all probably smelled like poop and musk.
I’ll stick with my thrift store clothes and running water, thank you very much.
“And that’s the third loan request I had to turn down this week. I’m not sure why people go through the trouble of filling out the paperwork if they can’t fulfill all the requirements. They’re just wasting everyone’s time.” Joshua lets out a chuckle and shakes his head, reaching for his beer.
Shoot, he’s been talking, and I haven’t been listening. My mind does that sometimes, drifting off down twisty tangent roads. I’m glad Joshua didn’t notice and ask me what I was thinking about. Then I’d feel obligated to tell him I was pondering ornate dresses that smell like musk and shit. Not a good second-date discussion.
“Yeah. That’s too bad they went through all that effort.” I hope my answer is sufficient, having only picked up the last few sentences.
“Hmm. I guess some people don’t have anything to do.” He chuckles. Again.
For some reason, the noise gives me a headache. Which has never happened. Normally, I love it when people are amused. If I hear laughter as I’m walking down the street, I can’t keep from smiling myself.
Maybe it’s because I’m not surewhyhe laughed. It’s not a joke. Or funny. It sounds like some people needed money, and he turned them down.
More than anything, that makes me sad.
Objectively, I realize it’s part of his job. Banks can’t give loans to everyone. There are rules in the world.
But too often I see those rules only benefiting a certain wealthy group of people. I’ve gotten too close to the lowest end of the economic spectrum to find someone being denied money amusing.
“Let’s talk about something other than work,” I say.
We covered hobbies and family on our first date in the few minutes before the movie theater went dark. Joshua is a runner, baseball player, and has weekly poker nights with his buddies. Nice, normal pastimes. Not necessarily great fodder for conversations, but still. “Read any good books lately?”
“Hey, isn’t reading books your job?” Joshua smiles at me, pointing his finger with a little teasing wave.
“Ha. True.” Not true. Not true at all.
But I’ve heard the joke before. Everyone imagines a librarian’s day involves finding a cozy chair and flipping open the latest bestseller.
Would I love to be paid to do that? Of course.
Does that job exist in the world? If it does, the job title certainly isn’tlibrarian.
An awkward silence descends as I wait to see if Joshua will answer the question. To look busy I reach for my wine glass and suck down a hearty gulp, congratulating myself when I don’t scowl at the taste.
But it’s so fucking fruity I want to gag. When we’d first sat down, I’d mused aloud how I wasn’t sure if I wanted a glass of white or red wine.
“Oh, my sister’s favorite wine is on this list. Let me get you a glass.” Joshua had grinned his perfect smile at me, and I’d given in.
If it’s someone’s favorite, that’s got to be a good endorsement.
Unfortunately, I’m too trusting.
The waiter brought out a moscato. I despise moscato. It’s like drinking a watered down pear mixed with cough syrup. My wine should be drier than centuries-old paint on a sun-exposed sign in the middle of the desert.
But no. Joshua saw the flowers on my dress and the petal-pink lipstick I’d carefully applied, and he categorized me as sweet.
Fucking sweet. Just like this goddamned wine.
I can’t believe I let him order for me. My mom would have flipped a table if she found out.
You are a strong, independent woman! No man should have a say in your life! Why are you even on a date?
And that is the moment where we would diverge.
