Page 5 of Man of the Month Club: May
Poppy and I make eye contact for the first time since sitting down. When she rolls her eyes over our sappy, romantic tablemates, I nod my head in agreement.
Ben and Daphne only have eyes for each other. After the silence drags on for a bit, Poppy finally says, “Cooper and I can be nauseatingly romantic, too.” As proof, she lifts a long French fry up to show us before gazing into my eyes to say, “You remind me of this nasty black spot in my otherwise perfect fry.”
The surprised chuckle emerges from my belly before I even realize it’s coming. Wanting to join in the ridiculous game, I lean in to say to her, “You’re just like the melted ice in my cola.”
Poppy chuckles at my quick response before zinging, “You’re the air leak in my tire.”
“Aww, you’re the sweat stain on my white T-shirt,” I tell her.
Poppy’s eyes are sparkling, making it obvious she’s enjoying our insult lobbing as much as I am. She bats her eyelashes dramatically and reaches over to take my hand in her cold one before saying, “You’re the worm in my apple.”
“You know these aren’t romantic at all, right?” Daphne asks.
I had nearly forgotten the two of them were here. When I glance in their direction and see the appalled expressions on their faces, I tip my head back and laugh before turning back to Poppy to say, “You’re the pee drop on my toilet seat.”
“Eww!” Daphne screeches at the same time as Poppy nods her head, grinning at me as she says, “Nice one!”
I sit back, rather proud of myself, until she fires back, “You’re the gum on the bottom of my shoe.”
As I scramble to think of another one, enjoying myself immensely, Poppy asks me, “Give up?”
“Never. I could go all night,” I assure her.
“We’ll see about that,” she murmurs in a husky voice that almost sounds flirtatious.
5
Poppy
This is by far the strangest date I’ve ever been on, but it’s also really fun. It’s obvious that Daphne and Ben don’t understand the pleasure of thinking of creative insults to toss at each other, but I can tell by the way Cooper is leaning in with his bright blue eyes sparkling in my direction that he’s enjoying himself as much as I am.
When he calls me ‘the mold on his bread,’ I tell him he’s the ‘crack in my mirror.’ He responds that I’m the ‘commercial during his television show,’ so I say he’s the ‘smushy strawberry at the bottom of my container.’ He tosses back that I’m the ‘bug guts on his windshield,’ so I say he’s the ‘bill in my mailbox.’
Ben jumps in to say, “Okay, it’s obvious that you’re both very good at insulting each other. Clearly, you don’t enjoy each other’s company, so let’s call it an evening and mark one strike against Phoebe’s matchmaking app.”
Cooper gives his brother a startled look as if he has forgotten the other couple is here before asking, “Who says we’re not enjoying ourselves? I’m having a fantastic time. How about you, Poppy?”
The admission and question both startle me. I’m surprised to find that I am actually enjoying myself––a great deal. Nodding my head in agreement, I say, “Yes, I’m having a blast. This is more fun than I’ve had on a date in years.”
I hadn’t intended for the glowing praise to slip out, but Cooper looks thrilled by the compliment. We turn our attention to Ben when he makes a scoffing noise in his throat. He shakes his head as if he’s bewildered by us before saying, “Whatever floats your boat, I guess. But we’re out of here, right, Daph?”
“Yes, I’m ready to go home and make love with you,” Daphne says as she scrapes her plastic spoon along the bottom of her paper cup to get the last bit of chocolate Frosty out of it.
Her bold honesty is a bit disconcerting, but Ben looks incredibly pleased as he stands to take our trash to the receptacle and says, “My lady has spoken.”
Once they leave, I turn an expectant gaze toward Cooper, since he’s had plenty of extra time to come up with a creative zinger.
He doesn’t disappoint, when he says, “You’re the orange grease on top of my pizza.”
I chuckle before answering, “You’re the green scum on my pond.”
With that, we dive back into our rapid-fire banter. He tells me I'm the ‘ant at his picnic,’ so I say he’s the ‘cloud in my blue sky.’ He fires back that I’m the ‘ding on his car door,’ so I respond that he’s the ‘smudge on my sunglasses.’ When he indicates that I’m the ‘dirt under his fingernails,’ I tell him that he’s the ‘brown spot on my banana.’
Soon, we’re just yelling them back and forth, not caring that the other patrons in Wendy’s are starting to stare.
“Wart on my toad!”
“Rain on my parade!”
