English Major Girl Finds Love (or not...)

On the last day of my stay in NYC, Kate and I headed out to see the Zaha Hadid exhibit, partake in some retail therapy, and eat too much fabulous food. All in all, a great day.

Heading home on the subway (intent on grabbing a bottle of wine and settling in for a screening of Apres Vous), we spotted a handsome young man in our subway car—late twenties/early thirties, pensive, completely oblivious to anything in the car outside of his book. Kate leaned over to me and said, “That’s your boyfriend.”

“That’s Your Boyfriend,” for those not in the know, is a game for which Kate deserves all the credit, though her friends are owed some applause for its perpetuation. The purpose of the game is to call your girlfriend out, to pick the one guy out of the crowd who so obviously epitomizes her “type” that it’s funny. So, good call, Kate. Handsome young man—late twenties/early thirties, pensive, completely oblivious to anything in the car outside of his book—was an excellent “That’s Your Boyfriend” call.

However, the game is just that, a funny game. It never leads to anything else, and that’s because it’s played by a group of women who met in English class. We keep journals, listen to the Cure, empathize with Sylvia Plath. Occasionally, we dabble in poetry. So, we’re not the most forward or socially skilled girls, even if we are sometimes funny.

As evidence, witness how even the spotting of a handsome man turns into a truly sad spectacle in this, um, sort of transcript of what followed the “That’s your boyfriend” statement.

Kate: That’s your boyfriend.
Sara: Good call, Kate. Is that a Signet Classic?
Kate: What?
Sara: The book he’s reading. Doesn’t it look like a Signet Classic?
Kate: I think you’re right. I see the logo.
Sara: But, which book is it? I haven’t seen that cover before.
Kate: Could it be Shakespeare?
Sara: Yeah, maybe. Hey, do you think this could be a good marketing campaign for Signet Classic? You know, two girls on the subway see a handsome guy reading and wonder, “Is that a Signet Classic?”

This exchange took up the rest of our train ride, as we discussed the length of the book, the possibility of its being a play, additional materials included in Signet Classic publications. We may or may not have discussed favorable relations we've had with our own Signet Classics. I can't divulge all of the juicy details.

So, Kate was right. That was my boyfriend. He probably lit up a cigarette as soon as he got out of the station, grabbed a cup of coffee (black), and walked home to enjoy his Signet Classic. [Or to add a darkly Pollyanna-esque, “Glad Game” twist to this, there is the possibility that he did all of those things just before starting on a shooting spree throughout Queens and that there actually could be an upside to being an awkward English major girl…Just a thought!]

Note: Somewhat regrettably, the humor of this game rests on the objectification of men, something with which I am not usually comfortable, but the fun-making is all at the expense of your girlfriends. So, two wrongs make a right. Right? Right!