The Year of Yes Read Online Free PDF Page B

sleeping in a cardboard box doesn’t mean he isn’t worthy of me.”
    “It might,” said Zak.
    “ I’m sleeping in a cardboard box,” I said, and pointed at my hut.
    “What’re you talking about?” Vic asked, plucking the headphones off, and giving me the look that said she’d interrupted deep thoughts in order to tend to my perennially tortured love life.
    “The men I meet are emotionally crippled, arrogant, scum-sucking lowlifes, pretending to be evolved. I can’t deal with them anymore,” I said. It was necessary to exaggerate, or Vic wouldn’t take me seriously.
    “Some were hot, though,” said Vic. She pointed at a photo above the stove, which depicted one of the good-looking,vapid ones. I kept it there to remind me not to be deceived by beauty.
    “For the next year, I’m going out with every man who asks me. Like on the subway, on the street, whatever. I’ve been too picky, and it’s making my life suck. I’m going to stop saying no.”
    Somewhere, a gong was rung. Somewhere, lightning struck. In our kitchen, Vic and Zak were rendered speechless. “No” had been my theme song, my mantra, my favorite word. A whole year without no?
    “Yes,” I said. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”
    “Whoa,” said Zak. “I so wish all girls were like you.”
    “Where do you think we live?” said Vic. “You’re going to date dog walkers.”
    “If a man is good with animals, he might be good with me.”
    Zak eyed me, clearly considering some sort of comeback, then thought better of it and went back to his caffeine.
    “I’m going to leave that alone,” he said. “Say thank you. You owe me.”
    “Thank you, that’s very kind,” I said.
    “Dog walkers from New Jersey,” said Vic.
    “Parts of New Jersey are attractive.”
    “Dog walkers from New Jersey who keep severed heads in their freezers.”
    “Not all serial killers are from Jersey,” I told her. Many were from the Northwest, where I was from. I felt safer in New York, frankly.
    “I could be missing really cool people, just because I don’t think they’re cool enough for me,” I continued. “Maybe I’m meant to be with a taxi driver.”
    Vic looked skeptical.
    “You’ll only date the hot ones. And you’ll end up with the same guys you always date. Actors. Writers. It’s your destiny. They like you, you like them. Stop complaining.”
    “I cannot fucking wait to see what you bring home,” said Zak. “ If you really do this,” he added. “Because you won’t.”
    “I will,” I said.
    “Swear,” he said.
    “On my future happiness, on all matters of the heart, on true love, and on satisfaction. If I don’t say yes, let me die alone,” I said, and stuck out my hand. Zak nodded in approval of my melodrama. We shook.
    “Oh my God,” said Zak. “This is fucking great.”
    “Big fun,” said Vic. “Just don’t give our number to any more weirdos.”
    She had a point. In the past, I’d been somewhat too generous with our phone number. Victoria had tried to tutor me in the brush-off, but it did no good. I’d end up cringing in the corner, as Vic answered the phone and told whoever was on the other end that I had food poisoning/schizophrenia/moved back to Idaho/died tragically.
    “I won’t give anyone our number,” I said, suspecting that I was lying already.
    “And are you planning to sleep with all of them?” Vic made no bones about the fact that she believed that if a girl slept with more than nine guys total, she was automatically a slut. She called this the Double-Digit Rule. By her definition, I might as well have invested in a few pairs of platform vinyl boots and some Lycra hot pants, because I was past the point of no return. I, on the other hand, believed in dividingthe number of men by the number of years on the market.
    Looked at that way, my number was minuscule.
    “Obviously not,” I said.
    “Really,” said Zak, raising one eyebrow.
    “Why would I sleep with someone I didn’t like?” Never mind that