Jackie

I made a girlfriend a while ago.

String, wax, some chemicals.

She was sassy. I made her in the morning and when I got home from work that day I asked if she would like me to order pizza for dinner.

“What do I want pizza for?”

She had moxie.

First thing I said to her, actually, was, “What are we going to call you?”

She said she didn’t care.

“You’ve got to have a name,” I said.

“So?”

“So you look like a Jackie.”

“So call me Jackie,” she said. “I’ll be me, you’ll call me Jackie, everyone will be happy.”

I went to work, came home and suggested the pizza— those were our first two conversations. And that night was our first date.

“If not pizza, what?”

“Thai. I feel like going for Thai,” she said.

I dressed her in a different outfit and we walked to Thai One On.

“I like the name,” I said.

“These shoes are too tight.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“I like the name of the restaurant.”

“I don’t.”

“No?”

“I don’t like puns. Men like puns. You don’t see women playing with words.”

“That’s true,” I said.

She was pretty quiet through dinner. I talked for both of us and ate most of the food.