Don’t! Feed! The! Cat!
The twenties have exactly one purpose: to atomize stupidity. Growing up, learning lessons, taking responsibility – this can also be postponed to the thirties.
Toni, 22, allowed me to forget my age for an evening. We met up two days after the match. I put my body in an outfit in which I couldn’t possibly be taken seriously. Permissive and daring!
From the outset, I parked our meeting on the nothing-serious track. What was the reason? Maybe I didn’t want to take up too much of Toni’s best time, didn’t want to poison her with my cynicism. There’s something about getting involved with someone younger: the conversations are light-hearted, it’s permissible not to brood over the future and unsecured pension entitlements, and the topic of having children isn’t even considered – in fact, it’s strictly forbidden.
He lived right above a bar, which had some advantages.
After many transparent drinks, we staggered up the stairs to his apartment. The whole sixty-eight.
He put on some record to impress me (unfortunately it worked) and to prove to me that his record player wasn’t just wannabe retro decoration. I listened to the music and moved to the beat with my eyes closed. It must have looked incredibly stupid. Which didn’t matter to me at the time.
Toni hugged me. I haven’t been hugged without cause for a long time; only to greet me, to say goodbye or when I cried. It was beautiful. He kissed me and I forgot everything around us.
“I’ll get us a water,” he said, pointing to the sofa behind me. I dropped onto the red cushion and suddenly sobered up.
The pair of poisonous green eyes stared straight at me. A cat that could just as easily have been a wombat. With the dimensions from a dubious laboratory breeding. Simply gigantic, simply repulsive. The poor animal was so fat that it could no longer stand up for its hygiene. Toni overfed her. He didn’t care that her fur stank and that he made her helpless. He probably didn’t care about anything.
Twice she toppled over like a skittle trying to clean herself. I would have loved not to have seen this sad performance.
I pulled my inappropriate dress down to my knees. The comfort zone had given me the boot. It’s silly, but sometimes a little moment that doesn’t even have anything to do with you makes all the difference.
I came, I saw, I disappeared. Back to my thirties.
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
