Next Big Book Thing: Dermot Davis – Excerpts from Zen & Sex

EXCERPTS FROM ZEN AND SEX:

“Got your text.” Mike quickly says, as if this is what he really wanted to talk about in the first place. “What’s your next move?”

He is, of course referring to my text to him about the wedding invitation, which complete with expletives and capitals, it may have looked like I was YELLING with rage. But that was spur of the moment stuff and many hours and a few secret beers later, I can now calmly reflect on the whole thing like the reasoned gentleman that I am.

“My next move? I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Well, she obviously wants to rub your face in it.” Mike says, sounding like he has given the whole situation some considered thought, probably the only thing he’s thought about all day: some new drama, yippee. “What’s a girl saying if she sends a wedding invitation to her ex? ‘You blew it, I’m happy and I’m in love. You’ve got nobody and you’re miserable. You should never have let me go, you total loser.’ She’s making a point.”

“I shouldn’t go?”

“If you don’t go, it’ll look like it was just too painful for you to show up. Then she wins by default.”

“So, I should go?”

“If you go by yourself, then you are a total loser and you’ll have to suffer her sickly-sweet, forced, sympathetic smile every time she deigns to look at you during the speeches. ‘Oh, you poor thing, you’ve got nobody to love you. But don’t worry, there must be someone out there that’s perfect for you. Don’t give up hope.’ No, you can’t go alone dude, don’t even think about it.”

Knowing exactly where Mike was going with this, I finish off his thought process for him. “The only solution is for me to show up with a drop-dead, gorgeous babe who acts like she’s crazy about me.”

“Bingo.” Mike says with gusto. “Then, she’ll feel like the total loser.”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re not dating a drop dead, gorgeous chick, are you?” asks Mike, after a timely beat, pointing out the obvious.

“Haven’t met any I like,” I quip and then turn back to my laptop, not so subtly signaling an end to the conversation.

“You’ve got three weeks,” adds Mike, getting in the last word.