Breaking up with Quentin was hard to do for several reasons: she didn't want to be friends; she wouldn't stop emailing, calling, and texting me; and, rudeness was totally lost on her. However, thanks to modern technology, I eventually managed to ban, block, and spam-list her into oblivion - I hoped.
I have always believed that when a relationship fails, the best thing to do is to get right back on the dating horse. That is exactly what I did. I fired up my OKCupid account and turned my search light back on. Naturally, Quentin kept showing up as a 90% match in all my searches. I couldn't resist taking a peak at her profile, in stealth mode, to see if she was moving on or not.
Not. She had changed her profile into a long complaint about how she had finally found the perfect woman, who had broken her heart, but she refused to give up... blah, blah, blasé. Dang, if she gets that cut up after one month of casual dating, I'd hate to see her after a long-term relationship.
Luckily for me, New York City has no shortage of datable women. A few days after reactivating my profile, I had a correspondence with a nice, sane-seeming, woman named Kitty, with whom I had very little in common. Perfect. We agreed to meet at Bar Veloce for a drink and an in-person chat.
I arrived on time, and I recognized Kitty from her description of what she'd be wearing, sitting at the far end of the bar. She was tall, femme, and looked very pretty from across the room. However, as I got closer to Kitty, I smelled a rat, and I recognized that it was Quentin in femme clothing.
I was pissed and turned to go, but Quentin hurried over to stop me. Who knew she could move so fast in heels like that?
"Hey, hey, Sissy. Wait a minute. Don't go."
"Look, Quentin, don't start another scene. I like this bar and would actually like to be able to come back here sometime."
"I won't, I promise. Just have one glass of wine with me, OK?"
I assumed the alternative would be something from a Divine movie, so I agreed, and joined her at the bar.
"You know, Sissy, I thought about what you said, about us both being butch, and you were right. That's why I decided to try to be more feminine for you."
"Quentin, I don't want you to change for me. You are a nice, smart, very attractive woman - except that lately you've been kind of an obsessive stalker bitch."
I expected Quentin to be offended by this, but she just nodded in agreement.
"You live in the New York City area (Newark), and there are lots of women who will be attracted to you for yourself. "
"Just not you, though?"
"No, not me."
True to her word, Quentin did not cause a scene. She calmly opened her Louis Vuitton bag, took a $20 bill out of her wallet (which I noticed still had the chain on it from its back-pocket days), placed it on the bar, then strode toward the door. As I watched her go, I had to admit, even from the back, Quentin looked smoking hot. Inferno hot.