The Story of Mr. Mickey


Today, I bring to you another story of the Loggster, my ultra-talented friend who once had  Jake Gyllenhaal dump her 2 days before New Years. Luckily for me (and you guys) this girl seems to be a gift that just keeps on giving.

This past January, the Loggster met a guy on Tinder. (Where else? Seriously, where else?) He was visiting from Miami, and on the first date he informed her that he liked to vacation at Disney World, because, I quote (like there is any fucking way I could make this up), “it reminds him of different parts of the world”.

I begged her to stop then and there, but Loggy didn’t listen. Apparently, her dream in life was to go see Wicked on Broadway, so when Mr. Mickey offered to take her, she just couldn’t resist. Considering how rare it is for a man to invite you anywhere these days, I can’t help but understand.

It was a cold, blizzardy January night, the kind of night when all you want to do is hibernate and watch Scandal, not go to a Broadway show with Mr. Mickey for lack of better options. Still, Loggy decided to brave it for the sake of the arts, and headed over to the theater, where Mickey was eagerly waiting for her with a box of Lindor chocolates. Cute, right?Unfortunately, girls don’t like cute, especially when its wrapped in a in a nerdy, 5’6 package.

The show itself was great, if you don’t count the twenty-minute break in between, during which the Loggster used her weak bladder as an excuse to retreat to the bathroom. Exactly you want to be doing on a date, hein?

When it ended, Mr. Mickey suggested that they commemorate the magical moment by asking somebody to take a photo of them in front of the Wicked set. (Just  like in Disney World!!!) After all, it wasn’t every day he got to see a Broadway show in the Big Apple! The Loggster, a brave soul, swallowed her mortification as she waited for him to find some fellow tourists to take the photo. (Given the height difference and awkwardness of the situation, I would pay double digits for a fine print.)

Both of them were heading back to Brooklyn in the blizzard, so Loggy called them an Uber. They had about thirty minutes to spare, so Mickey suggested they grab a drink at a nearby bar. Sipping on his Corona, he started telling her how grateful he was that the Tinder gods  had brought them together, and how excited he was about their budding relationship. The next step, he told her, was for her to come to Miami so that he could take her to Disney World for the first time.

At this point, the Loggster began feeling an creeping sensation, similar to that of slowly being strangled. He kept talking about Disney World, she kept feeling her throat closing up. Unable to handle it anymore, she burst out with the following gem:

“I don’t know what you think this is.. But, if anything, you can definitely say you made a great friend during your trip.”

While this is not the smartest thing to say to a slightly deluded person with obvious romantic intentions (the smartest thing to do is run), it most certainly did not justify the reaction that followed. Suddenly, Mickey went all Mufasa on her, attacking our poor Loggy on ten different counts. Who the hell did she thing she was; how dare she lead him on, and, most importantly, how dare she agree to see Wicked with him? Terrified, she told him that she had assumed he wanted to see it as well.

“ I’m a guy. What kind of guy likes Broadway shows?” was his answer.

Are you kidding me? Um, the same kind of guy that likes vacationing in Disney World?

The atmosphere was so tense by the time the Uber arrived that Loggy volunteered to let him take the car and catch her own cab. Once safely in the comfort of a yellow taxi, she generously offered the driver the Lindor chocolates. ( Silly girl. I so would have eaten them. )

The next day I received the following text: “Omg, I pulled a you. I am now the most hated person in NYC.” I decided not to take it to heart – after all, the girl had just been through major Shit Date trauma. Then again, it was kind of her own fault for overestimating her ability to handle Mr. Mickey in a sober setting.

In any case, we composed a semi-apology text to Mr. Mickey, which he never responded to. We also established, once and for all, that you don’t date losers just for the sake of dating. Karma’s a bitch, and where you save on Broadway tickets, you make up in escape taxis. 

Here’s your Wednesday Wisdom ladies! You can thank me later.

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