Here is a prompt of my own creation: Take two people that you know decently well. Take three qualities indicative of each. Merge those six qualities together to form an entirely new person. Now, from the 3rd person, imagine them on a blind date….
Her name was Hillary. Newt told himself this over and over, rolling it around in his head. He’d have to stand up and say it out loud, in spite of the jarring sense of apprehension of that name which had been programed into him over long hours of binge watching fringe news shows. Hillary. He wore gray slacks and a button up white shirt with the top two buttons undone and a matching gray jacket. His sister called the look ‘Understated’ and worked at convincing him the clothes would show off his smile. He suspected Hillary had already seen his smile when his sister set this thing up. Nobody went on truly blind dates anymore. The term lost its meaning shortly after the advent of MySpace. Google, Facebook, even Tinder made it much worse. By now she had a working profile of his entire professional and dating history. She knew what he did for a living, knew why he binged Fox News web-only alternatives and thusly why her name tasted like old oysters in his mouth. She knew about Emelia. She knew about Shanda. She probably even new about Christine, though he suspected his decade old fourth grade romance didn’t leak into the internet they way it would in the era of tik tok.
Most of all, he knew he was terrified. He had no idea what to say to a girl like Hillary who was born rich and had blonde hair that appeared to be natural and legs as long as corn stalks. He didn’t know what they would talk about or have in common. She didn’t look like the kind of girl to like anime or punk rock music. He couldn’t for the life of him understand why his sister would put him in this situation. She’d said, “It’s worth a try, right?”
“Playing the lotto is worth a try one time, and I think I’d have a better shot at landing a million lotto wins than a second date with a girl like that.”
“you’ll always lose if you never play.”
“I’m sure you’re misquoting that.” He said, but here he was anyway. Styled, groomed, and sipping at a glass of water at the bar. He checked his watch. He’d made dinner reservations here, at Rooney’s at 8, and his watch said 7:45. She said she’d meet him by 7:50. Five minutes felt like a very long time.