First Date... again, not really

FIRST DATE:

And she said [leaning into the question with obvious physical interest, fifty minutes into a date that, for all intents and purposes, for all outward appearances, seemed to being going quite well]:
Do you have any consuming hobbies right now? Like, what is the thing that you are just TRYING to own right now?

And he said [in an apathetic panic, the eternal self-doubter, not knowing that things were going well, thinking that masturbating twice a day and covering the city in spraypaint wasn’t something that should be brought up at this early a stage, even though they were his primary, all-consuming hobbies]:
Uh… I’m thinking about learning how to juggle fire? [He had no designs on this until just now, and after blindly pulling it out of his ass, still had no plans on doing any such thing. Fire was hot, blisters sucked. To this very day, he has no idea why he said this.]

And she said, excitedly [she lived in the Alberta District of Portland, Oregon twixt the years of 1999 and 2037. If you know what that means, you know. If not, disregard this bracket and move on]:
Oh, like poi balls? Or batons? I saw an AWESOME fire juggler the other night downtown at Pioneer Square. He was juggling flaming bowling pins! I guess he didn’t have permission cuz the security guys shut him down pretty quick.

Him [knowing he was sinking deeper into dumb]:
Uh, no. I mean, yeah, that’s cool. Totally. But… I’m not talking about juggling THINGS that are on fire. Just, actually, to learn how to juggle fire. You know, like fire, on its own, in its purest form.

Her [one delicately plucked eyebrow arches]:
Uh… but. How? I don’t get it… I mean, you need, like, SOMETHING…. like, as a vector or something? A carrier? Something that is actually on fire?

Him [noticing her eyebrow and, understandably, lack of understanding ,but mind totally blown with the realization that fire needs other things to exist—that, as a highly destructive though sometimes cleansing device, it cannot exist solely on its own. That shit was crazy to him right then and there, but he couldn’t abandon the story line, couldn’t stop running, because if he did he’d be gored to death by his own idiocy. It was like the running of the bulls[hit]] [double brackets, bitches!!!]:
Yeah, I know that it sounds like something in the realm of “not possible”, which is why I feel like it’s a good thing to learn. You know, like, people can juggle things that are on fire. We see it all the time. It’s not easy, but it has been done to death, right? But no one has figured out how to juggle just fire on its own. You know, deal with it on its own terms?

Her [other eyebrow arching with beautiful incredulity, looking bored and finished, the forward lean from the initial question undone to a back lean, slouched against the chair that, as far as he was concerned, was absolutely not designed to encourage people to hang out for long periods of time]:
:

Him:
Yeah, uh… [searching for something right to say, floundering, seeing the stupidity of his words reflecting off of her face, a face that he was realizing he’d never get to kiss, never be in a position to smell that intimate smell of breath expelled though nose unless he upended this tipped canoe of conversational idiocy. On a cellular lever, he knew he couldn’t right this dumb].

And that was that. End of Night Point Tally:
Failure- 10 points,
Possible Future (or even a kiss goodnight)- 0 points

So he went on about phrenology and dowsing and every other thing that would make it impossible for her to want to have anything to do with him on an intimate level. He remembered specifically wincing, internally, when he brought up the subject of chemtrails, something he had no belief in though he found himself railing about their evil.