SOCIALPATIBILITY

REPEAT 🔁

I like this Julian Duval staring back at me in the mirror. When I gaze at his reflection, I see someone who is pressing, a trustworthy guy—a man with an appealing appearance and who has confidence.

What I love above all is to know that the guy in the glass is me. I am Julian Duval, a good man and a witty one at that.

If someone told me that I would become this guy in ten years, I would have laughed hard. For you see, I'm the type of guy who you would not bet your last dime on even if your life depended on it. A doormat amongst other doormats stepped upon for a lifetime. With no plans, I just tried to survive the day and thanked the Almighty for allowing me to see another sunrise.

Now, the shitty era is behind me; for 2018, Julian Duval is a promising employee in a good company with colleagues, friends, and a hot girlfriend.

When I say hot, I mean extreme Barbie doll.

Barbie dolls are not my thing, but it's not Grace's fault if someone decides to make her into a Mattel prototype. Grace is a tiny blonde, but she isn't your cliché stereotype; she is kind and gentle, and she works in the ACTU administration service.

I'm just a lucky guy who happened to meet her.

Yes, the fucking Ferris wheel does turn in our direction sometimes.

I am blessed, and in a few minutes, the woman of my dreams will join me in this little Italian restaurant she likes. We've been dating for almost nine months, and I never thought I'd say this, but I think I love the girl.

Just thinking of my emotions makes me feel as though I'm having mini heart attacks. Grace is the kind of girl I would have loved to bring home to my mom and say, "Hey, mom, look what your loser of a son managed to catch."

I wonder what my mom would say if she met Grace and saw the man I've become.

I glance at my watch; Grace should be arriving. I leave the toilets and sit down. Grace and I have this routine where we go to this quirky Italian restaurant once a week. The type with red and white checkered napkins and plastic grapevines hanging from the ceiling, without forgetting the Lady and the Tramp mandolin-style music that plays in the background.

Habits are pleasant; I like to know what and when something will happen. It reassures me, I'm allergic to randomness.

I hate randomness and multiple choices. For example, right now, I know Grace will order a Caesar salad after she orders pizza, which she won't eat because she'll be eating mine. I've never had a standard life, and I appreciate my ordinary, conventional relationship with this woman.

The predictability of our love story is comfortable.

Grace steps into the restaurant. I lift my hand and wave at her. She walks towards me with a smile—she always smiles—and I hardly see her with another expression. No, she isn't a psycho. Grace is an authentic, altruistic girl who has no reason at all to portray hate on her face.

"Sorry, I'm a little late."

"I should punish you for the 2 minutes and 48 seconds you made me wait. I'm kidding."

I wink, and she smiles; gosh, I love her.

The waiter approaches the table, "What will you have tonight?"

"The usual for me, Marco," I say, handing him the menu.

"I'll have a calzone."

"No salad, madame?"

"No, not today, and I'll have a glass of Bordeaux."

I don't know why, but Grace's sentence makes me uncomfortable; I shift in my seat. Grace never drinks alcohol in my presence; she knows the history I have with alcoholized beverages. I feel my breath shorten.

"Wow, it's hot in here."

Grace looks at me as if I'm crazy, but her lips still curve into a smile.

"How was your day?"

"Good. We're working on this new concept: IGLO POP ice cream. I'm glad I'm with Travis on this one; he's good with avant-garde concepts."

"That's great," Grace says as the waiter pours her glass of wine and opens my sparkling water.

"Thank you, Marco, and you, how was your day?"

"The usual, sorting out files and bookings."

For the first time, I hear a hint of frustration in Grace's voice.

"You know what? I'm fed up working at ACTU; I'm tired of working in an office. I'm just soㅡ."

Now, she is making me panic.

"What, do you want to quit?" I ask as I take a few gulps of my water.

"It's just that there comes a time when you ask yourself, who am I? What am I doing here?"

Oh, no, Grace, don't do a mini existential crisis here. This is our moment. Don't ruin the routine,