The OK Cupid Files, Part Trois: Two Toms and a Jerry

I apologize for the short break – I was busy sampling my own medicine and enjoying the debaucherous mess that is the Parisian holiday party scene. In any case, lets jump back on that OK Cupid horse, or rather the sad ridden donkey that it really is. 

Last summer, a friend from New York came to visit. A nice Jewish girl with a big Jewish network, she organized us a rendezvous with the Parisian outpost of her crew. We all met for drinks at Etienne Marcel, and I got talking to one of the guys. I recall little detail, other than him being on the semi-international side of French men, even having lived in New York for a year. He took my number and we agreed to meet in a couple of weeks, as both of us were going on holiday.  

I went to Russia, The Drama Magnet and I joined OK Cupid, you know the drill. (If you don't, read here.) One day, I noticed that TDM and the Jewish boy were newfound Facebook friends. It turned out that they had recently met on OK Cupid and were optioning a date of their own. Having realized the coincidence, we laughed, proclaimed the world to be small, and gave me unspoken first dibs on the guy (real life trumps e-loving any day).

Back in Paris, the guy and I got talking. Coincidentally (this seems to be the theme here), both of us were planning weekend trips to Dauville, a Parisian a version of the Hamptons. He was going with his friends, I was going with my soul sister TDM. To avoid That Awkward Moment, I mentioned right away that he had met my friend. He didn't respond with as much as an ¨lol¨, which I suppose was a warning sign of his incomprehension of the situation.

Throughout the entire weekend, our new friend engaged in what can only be described as a game of Tom & Jerry. Only, instead of being chased, it was us trying to tackle down the crazy Frenchman all over a sleepy beach town. He would invite us to a spot, talk to us for ten minutes and then suddenly disappear, only to send me a new meeting destination a few minutes later. By 3am on Saturday night, we had walked all of Dauville, and the neighboring city of Trouville, by foot. When Jerry pulled his final magic act under the pretenses of going to the bathroom, I decided that it was time to cut our losses and head home. 

You can imagine my surprise when he texted me again the following Monday as though nothing had happened, suggesting a drink. 

Please don't ask me why I agreed. 

Granted, Wednesday came and went without a trace of Jerry. As he hadn’t set the bar high, I didn’t take much notice… That is, until a week later TDM send the parallel conversation she was having with our man. 

I MEAN… No words. No words, just questions.

1. What kind of drugs is he on? Because I have tried quite a few in my day, but never have I encountered anything that makes you this profoundly deluded.

2. Do we look particularly dumb? Oblivious enough for him to think that this could somehow work out to his advantage? Which leads me to my next question - was he aiming for a threesome here? It’s the 21^st century man, you can just ask.

Personally, all I want to know is the drug thing. Sometimes, a warped sense of reality can come in quite handy.

I think it was this particular case of crazy that inspired us to consider sharing our rich experiences with the world. Hence, all of you fifty readers can thank Jerry Boy for having something to do on your lunch break.

The End.