The art of losing
“Learn to lose, day by day,” Elizabeth Bishop once said. Well, not all of us are such good losers. Allow me to venture even further: men are usually particularly bad at it. Wars, women’s hearts, soccer. It’s always about winning. No half measures.
Micha, 34, an adrenaline junkie, sent me a message immediately after our match. Irritated that he wrote me more than two syllables after such a short time, I speculated that it was a flimsy copy-paste job. What the heck, I thought. After all, I didn’t have anyone for the billiard double date that my friend Vanessa had arranged the week before.
It was my first time. I only knew pool tables from movies in which the town bully turns his back on his rival just before he gets hit with a bar stool.
“So, you pussies! The first round is a warm-up, then it’s time to get down to business,” said Vanessa, setting the tone.
Micha played really well. I wondered if he was just lucky, a natural or if he took it very seriously. I, on the other hand, was as talentless as a limping raccoon on mushrooms.
“It’ll work next time,” he encouraged me.
He patted my ass, I covered his eyes when he made a move, Vanessa imitated a blowjob with her cane, her boyfriend rolled his eyes. The atmosphere was exuberant.
Then the second round began and the fun was over. After I failed again, the expression on Micha’s face slipped. There was something unpleasantly determined, almost aggressive about him.
We played in teams, I should perhaps add. And I had ours on my conscience. I suspected that my awkwardness would not be an aphrodisiac. But it became an absolute dealbreaker. Yes, my two left hands had created a monster. One that barely spoke to me and avoided my gaze.
Micha cursed, bit his lower lip and clenched a fist when I “messed up” again. Suppressed anger has never been a problem for any of my dates.
Our evening was contaminated.
Everyone present was glad not to be me. I began to feel more ashamed of my companion than of my pathetic performance with the pool cue.
I had lost the game, but I came to the following realization: not being able to play pool had saved me from making a big mistake. Otherwise I would certainly have met Micha again and simply put off getting to know Mr. Hyde.
Writing is her hobby: Sybille Statz from Cologne loves great romances just as much as she loves horror films, cats and 90s series. You can read more of her work in her two short novels “Matches for Real – Das Dating-Desaster” and “After Sunset – Korallenrot” and here.
What does our author Sybille Statz experience when dating? Here you can find the other episodes to read, marvel at and smile about.
Text: Sybille Statz
