Slutting For Kitchen Appliances

The title of this post is a little misleading, as it does not contain any actual sex. I sometimes fondly refer to this amongst friends as the air fryer story. Tl;dr some dude I went on a few dates with gave me an air fryer.

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On my first date with J1, admittedly, I didn’t remember if he was ‘J Tinder Dude‘ or ‘J Tinder Dude 1‘ in my phone since they shared the same first name (it was the latter). I just decided to roll with it. They looked different enough where I didn’t think there was a risk of mixing them up. At least not yet.

We hit it off well though. J1 laughed easily and was quick to smile. We were both Bay Area transplants and raised in strict, Asian households. I also learned he was a pharmacist and had an older sister. Unfortunately, this fact immediately triggered something in my subconscious; my younger brother was also studying to be a pharmacist. J1 definitely picked up on the weird face I made, but was good natured enough to only tease me a little bit. Looking back, if I were in his shoes, I would have been mortified. Despite the current popularity of a certain genre of porn, a guy that reminds a girl of her sibling is not likely to put her in the mood.

While controlling the urge to pester J1 with questions about the clinical pharmacy track, I tried steering the conversation a different direction. “Do you like to cook?” (this was a skill my own brother decidedly lacked).

To my relief, J1 immediately launched into his #mealprep routine. He waxed eloquent on recipes filled with chicken and veggies, conjuring up images of busy sundays by the stove. Curiously, he was also nuts for this new appliance his mom got him: an air fryer.

Let me confess for a moment that I don’t do #mealprep. I enjoy my food when I make it, even if it means some nights I eat popcorn for dinner. But I knew bitches loved instapot so I tried to play it cool.

“Oh shit that sounds legit. I’m into crunchy stuff. Send me the amazon link.”

On our next date, while the conversation flowed again, it was a bit of a fiasco. We went on a hike, and J1 gamely offered to carry me out of the park after I rolled my ankle. We went to eat after but I was so distracted from the pain that we had to make a pit stop on the way home for ice and a bandage wrap.

J1 drove me home and I figured the next one would definitely go more smoothly. As I placed my hand on his car door to leave, he blurted out, “I have to tell you something.”

“Oh shit, here it comes. He’s about to tell me about a secret girlfriend or something,” I thought. Little did I know, but that would end up being J Tinder Dude (without the “1”).

“I’m moving.”

“Like, to the city?” Over the bridge was like nothing.

“No, back to New York.”

I took a beat to digest this. I’m not proud, but I wasn’t really sure what to say and came off kind of aggro.

“Ok dude, have a nice life!”

What I probably meant was something more like “Why did you wait until the end of the date to tell me this so my ankle wouldn’t have gotten fucked up?” Live and learn, I suppose.

J1 tried to call me a couple times after. I guess I was mad because I waited until the next day to dignify a response. It’s not that I was emotionally invested, but I was a bit disappointed. Aside from the ankle and the weird sibling thing, I liked hanging out with him. Some part of me wanted to keep seeing him.

J1 negotiated dinner and possible drinks later as a sort of “Sorry” / goodbye date. I had pushed for getting high and raging at Target but this was a non-starter. Over pho, he explained a pretty serious family situation that pulled him back home. My sympathy swiftly displaced any annoyance I had.

“Shit dude, I’m sorry to hear that. You should definitely have moved back like a month ago.”

Not really in the mood for drinks after such a sobering story, I figured we could call it a night. On the drive back, I could tell that once again, J1 was antsy. He was trying to figure out how to tell me something. As I cautiously exited the car, to my surprise, he headed for the trunk.

“I got you this. It’s like a goodbye gift.”

It was a goddamn air fryer. Still in the original packaging. Dude got this shit brand new.

“Forreal? Thanks man! That’s super nice of you. Hey, good luck in New York and let me know if you’re ever back around.”

But J wasn’t done. Don’t you better fucking believe it. He decided to shoot his shot:

Hey, I know it’s late and all and we’re not doing drinks…but did you still wanna hang out tonight?

I let the sheer absurdity of trading kitchen appliances for sex wash over me for a moment. Emboldened, I felt pretty clever myself:

“Uh no thanks, sorry I’ve got work tomorrow. But thanks for the air fryer!