a vulgar beta digging my own hole

You’re at home, together with a woman you invited to spend the evening with you. Sitting on the sofa, facing each other. It’s your third date. Conversation flows effortlessly; you both laugh, smile. A few times already one of you has touched the other; at first seemingly by accident, by now more and more frequently and lastingly. Occasionally, in conversation, you come across one of those similarities in thought and perspective that makes one recognize a bit of oneself in another, and yearn for a physical realization of that proximity of minds.

You take a sip of your beer and listen to her voice over Boards of Canada’s Kid For Today. Goldfrapp’s Pilots will play next, if you’re recalling correctly the playlist you’ve put together for these occasions. You feel comfortable, confident, happy.

The last time you were in a similar situation, the evening ended early, and poorly. You and the woman had been kissing for some time when the doorbell unexpectedly rang. Even more unexpectedly, it was your farmer friend, who had shown up unexpectedly to offer you a piece of his latest harvest: a beet. He then left, but the sudden interruption and the disconcerting presence of the soil-covered beet had totally killed the mood. You and the woman vaguely chatted about root vegetables for a few minutes, then tried to resume from where you had left it, without much conviction or success; she went home a little later, leaving you there, aroused, alone (apart from the beet), and annoyed.

But everything is going well this time. Your stare catches hers while she talks, and you let it linger there for a while, until it becomes uncomfortable to keep doing so. Still then, you do not let it move away. She eventually finishes her sentence; you let the silence hang for another few seconds, adding to the tension. Only then do you put your hand on her shoulder, lean towards her, close your eyes, and…


The intercom. Again. Fuck.

You smile, apologize, and get up to go see who it is.

On the intercom screen is the smiling face of your farmer friend. Again. You grow suspicious. He then lifts a vaguely spherical object towards the camera. It seems to be… a beet?

Question: in this situation, would you say your friend is back with another one of those cock-blockin’ beets?

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