Single White Nerd: The Imaginary Girlfriend Has A Biological Timeclock
a blogumn by Michael Kass
Yesterday I sat on my couch and, in a supreme effort of will and imagination, created a girlfriend. Eyes squinched in concentration, I summoned her out of the ether. Neither too tall nor too short, intelligent with piercing eyes, a sharp wit with a soft core. She took shape in my living room and, without a word, slid next to me on the couch, her long blue dress rustling softly as she put her arms around me.
We sat there like that, holding each other on the couch for five minutes. Then I got bored. Because a perfectly configured, well-dressed girlfriend who doesn’t talk isn’t super fun to hang out with.
And so I squinched my eyes again and with another contortion of the spirit gave her vocal cords. She snuggled against me gratefully.
“This is nice,” she murmured.
“Sure is,” I replied, kissing her forehead. I could feel her smile in response.
“Michael,” (I loved the way she said my name), “I’ve been thinking about us.”
“Me too,” I replied. “I’ve been thinking about us naked.”
“Is that all you ever think about? Nudity, sex, sex while nude?”
“Pizza. You forgot pizza. I love you?” I laughed somewhat uneasily. It didn’t seem like this was going well at all. I held her closer.
“Don’t you ever think about having children?” She pushed herself away from me and gazed into my eyes.
“No. No I don’t.”
“Are too. Because if I think about having children, then you must think about it, too. You did create me, after all.”
“You are a very self-aware and increasingly annoying girlfriend.” I sat up, shaking my head. I squinched my eyes and tried to de-manifest her.
“Doesn’t work that way, Michael. You can’t just wish me away. You have to deal with me. And I want to talk about starting a family. We’ve been together almost 15 minutes now and it’s time to start planning for the future. I can’t just lounge around in blue dresses all day!”
“It’s just not the way I’m made.”
“But I made you.”
“Exactly!” She pointed her increasingly substantial finger at me. “And you must want children!”
“NO! Look—see that plant over there?” I pointed at a somewhat sad looking ivy hanging in the corner. “That’s the first living thing I’ve ever had to take care of. And it is wilting. WILTING! I can’t have a child, where would we put it? And having a kid in this economic climate would be foolhardy. I mean, I work for a nonprofit and you. . .you’re not even real.”
“I’m real to you.”
“Can you type?”
“Point taken. But what about all your friends who are having children? Don’t you wish that were us? Shopping for little baby clothes, going to the doctor to see pictures of the little baby, planning a life together?”
“What about them. That’s great for them. Wonderful. Very happy, best wishes.” I stood up and moved away from her. Her lower lip started to tremble.
“I see now that you’re just not ready. I can’t believe I’ve wasted so much time with you.”
“It’s been 20 minutes.”
A tear ran down her cheek. “I know. I’m going to leave. When you’re ready for something more substantial” (HAH!), “You know where I’ll be.”
With that, she dissolved back into the air leaving a faint scent of perfume and disappointment in her wake. Head still reeling from the effort of first creating and then arguing with her, I took down my (wilting) plant and watered it. Then I ordered a pizza, squinched my eyes shut, and with a supreme effort of will and imagination manifested a beer from the fridge.