J-Date

Nooo. No. I won’t do it. I can’t.
Huh?
Your face. Ahh! Why pretend? Why sit here with coffee, something I enjoy, and pretend?
What is it with my face?
It’s not good.
It’s not?
Your voice! Ah! Have you always spoken like that? Oh, shit.
Let’s just sit down—
You stuttered. Is that an impediment? You’re “slow” right?
Sit down for one second.
No.
Let’s chat. Get to know me. How important is family to—
What are you fifty four?
I’m forty seven.
Your profile says twenty nine.
It’s like a resume. They expect you to lie a little.
What’s that thing on your head. A babushka?
It was given to me by my grandmother: she survived the war.
Who would go near her with that on her head?
The colors are nice.
Take it off.
It’s comfortable.
Take it off, or I’m leaving.
I would never have guessed you would be like this, David.
You never… what?
Your emails about depression, and how you felt—
No, no, no, no, no. What did you call me?
David.
It’s Craig.
It say’s David—
I don’t want anyone knowing my real name.
Why?
Cause it’s a dating service!
You liar. You yente!
You don’t even look like your picture.
I looked like that once.
Yeah, but not anymore. Can you go back in time?
What?
Can you go back in time?
No.
So why should I date you—
Because I care about my culture. I go to synagogue every Friday, and I have strong relations with my family.
Wait, wait, wait wait. Why do you go to synagogue? Don’t tell me you’re Jewish.
It’s J-date!

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