Dub-less in Dublin: but you can call me ricky…

To provide more context to how we came to know the ‘R’ sound is absolutely and egregiously disgusting in an American accent, we must go back to our first week in Dublin in which my other dear roommate was becoming acquainted with the Trinity College gym and sports facilities. And I don’t know if it’s something in the water here, but men at the gym seem to think they reserve the right to interrupt a woman’s workout to a) ask if they can rotate in, b) if they don’t want to share ask if you’re almost done, and c) flirt with you whilst you’re sweating bullets and in no mood to engage with the opposite sex.

Our man chose ‘c’ and thought the best way in was to tell my friend that she wasn’t allowed to do hang cleans per gym rules. For those of you who don’t frequent the gym, you only do hang cleans if you frequent the gym…and it helps to have been a college athlete. This was the first of four times my friend was approached by this man and it was on the fourth time that he finally got the courage to introduce himself as Riccardo (but imagine he says it’s Italian and then proceeds to beautiful roll his ‘r’…well both of them…rrrrrrrrrrrriccarrrrrdo…and THEN says but you can call me Ricky).

And, because this boy knows the long game, it wasn’t until the second day my friend saw Ricky in the gym that he asked for her Instagram. With increasing assurance and confidence Riccardo told my friend that she looked strong and he dreams of a life in Maine (how tf he knew Maine was a place still strikes me as interesting) and finally leading to him asking her on a date. But get this. The date? Was to ‘train,’ no coffee, no drinks, no dinner, no pain, no gain.

Just as the weather played a role in the last story, it played a role in this one too. So, instead of training (guys please never ask for a first at the gym…have some respect) they decide to go on a walk in Phoenix Park at noon–a reasonable time for a Saturday–with the stipulation that a call would be made if the weather was shite. Like any adult who was looking forward to a date with a pretty girl from America you would think he’d wake up with enough time to check the weather, eat breakfast, and maybe even shower. WRONG. He woke up at 12:30pm and was not sorry enough for ghosting my pretty friend from America.

He did want to reschedule the date, which is a good sign seeing as he didn’t communicate at all that he was going to sleep past noon. But, because she’s a busy girl and has principles she said she was busy the rest of the day and couldn’t meet up later. To which he responded, are you serious? Yes, Ricky we are dead serious. Get your act together man. Maybe you ought to take your Instagram bio for some wisdom. This life. This night. Your story. Your pain. Your hope. It matters. All of it matters. All of it matters, Ricky, and you dropped the ball. It’s time to pick it up.

No plans really ended up materializing. But I would like to leave you with a proper ending to this story. It ended just as it began, in a state of confusion and painful awareness of masculinity, Riccardo ended his flirtation with my dear friend with a DM saying you know what? Forget it. All of it! I shit you not, he sent that message. All of it?! I thought it mattered. I guess not.

Epilogue:

As I sit here writing this story my dear friend is scrolling on instagram after posting a horrendous (yet very silly) photo of us out last night. And Ricky Riccardo liked her story! I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, this boy is working the long game. Because remember, all of it matters.