Small World

City: New York City, NY

Her: Amanda, 35 (American)      Him: Karl, 37 (American)

I matched with Karl on Tinder, and I remember clearly that we started chatting in a friendly and nice way, as though we’d known each other for a really long time. So much in common. In so many ways we were perfect for each other.

I should have known then that this was way too good to be true.

Of course, he asked me the typical questions like, where are you from? What do you do in life? What neighborhood do you live in? How is this app treating you so far? etc. Four weeks in and he hadn’t sent a dick pic or asked to see my boobs. This wasn’t an ordinary Tinder match, this was the white whale of Tinder matches – relationship material!

We found out that we were both from Maine but we didn’t spend too much time talking about that. Truthfully, I’ve been living in the city for 11 years now, Maine was forever ago.

After almost a month of chatting, he finally asked me out on a date. Ok, I asked him. Well, it was more like I asked if we were just going to talk online forever or was he actually interested in meeting up? Turns out we lived 4 blocks from each other. We visited the same bars and frequented the same bodega. We even lived along the same subway line – if you’re not from NYC you don’t know how big a deal that is, but so many relationships end because someone lives along the dreaded G line, which makes them geographically undesirable. Karl however, wow! We were in the same place mentally and geographically. This was getting better every day.

I was so excited to finally meet this guy. Like, shaving your legs in the winter excited. We met in a nice bar in Brooklyn and the moment we saw each other… I don’t know, that was hard to explain.

He took one look at me and one eyebrow went up. He went from open to guarded in a split second. Despite his odd reaction we started having some drinks, but as we kept chatting it was getting weirder and weirder. Then at some point, he asked me, “So what part of Maine are you from?” “From Augusta”, I said. “What about you?” “Hahahaha me too”, he answered, “do you by any chance have a brother called Nick?”

“I do, oh my God, why? Do you know him?”

My heart sank, I knew right then what was coming. Nick isn’t the sweetest of people.

Karl’s face and voice changed. “Yes, he was in my class at elementary school and I hate him. He ruined my childhood. I was chubby, and he was so mean to me. He was always making fun of me calling me Butterball in front of everyone. He made up a song calling me Butterball. One time in gym class the entire auditorium was singing Butterball! He bullied me a lot. I lost all my friends, and no one invited me to their birthday parties or playdates.”

Yep, he was talking about MY brother. This should have been a bonding moment for Karl and I. I should have chimed in, “Yeah, he was such an asshole when he was younger, but he’s mellowed now.” Or I could have defended my brother and said, “No way, I can’t believe this story. You’re probably wrong, you’re talking about a different Nick, my brother would never do this to anyone, he’s such a nice guy.”

But before I could say anything, he stood up, left 20 bucks on the counter — paying only for his drinks — and just about screamed, “I could never date Nick’s sister, Nick the dick!” And with that, he left.

Unbelievably awkward for me! I wanted to vanish into thin air, everyone was staring at me and laughing. I was mortified!

I immediately called my brother and told him the story, he pretended not to remember. Then,”Nah, I’m kidding” and he started singing “Butterball.”

A month later I was at the bodega and guess who was there? Karl. He was probably feeling bad about what he did, or maybe he was just lonely, but he started hitting on me, hard. I know I should have played along, but I was a couple of drinks down and all I could think about was this song my brother taught me…

“Butterball”