Date

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Obviously a lizard person – only lizard people have shoes that shiny.

I’m underneath a recycled pine wood table. His chinos are camel, like everyone else’s. Good camouflage, lizard person. It’s dark so it takes a few seconds before my hands clasp leather.

“Aha – my wallet – got it, yep.”

When I return to my seat, he sits across from me, his mild, approachable smile still frozen in place.

“So what do you do for fun?” His accent is North Shore, Sydney. Standard Australian English with enunciation evocative of sarcasm, oddly singsong and pitchy.

“Oh movies mostly – I love a good piece of oscarbait.”

Hobbies aren’t really my forte – mostly I just go to uni; on the weekends I work. Sometimes, my housemates make me go to the movies. I’m so bland, I’m like vanilla ice-cream without the vanilla. I was extremely grateful when this guy , this rando who I met in Union Court today wearing a bright green t-shirt struck a conversation and asked me out to dinner. It’s Tuesday and the Bachelor isn’t on tonight, so I didn’t have anything better to do. Plus, my housemates are gone and I need a space heater. When they’re gone I just watch ABC News 24 on loop and cry every time I see the Sy—

“Cool sticks, I actually wanted to see the one with Emma Stone…”

“…and Ryan Gosling?”

“That’s the one – La La Land.”

“Cool – perhaps we should go see it together?” Palms sweaty, mom’s spaghetti, what if he says no.

“Sure, it’s a date.”

“Oh, okay, cool.”

The restaurant is quiet – it’s a little bit fancy. We stare into each other’s eyes. His are blue. His hair is blondish. His features are regular and oddly familiar. He’s wearing a light blue button-up – a nice change from that daggy green t-shirt this morning. I guess he’s good looking but to me he’s just a dude that I’m going to take home tonight because it’s winter in the middle of Canberra and I really need a space heater.

We chat about uni, lament over the fact that we still love Midnight in Paris even though Woody Allen is morally questionable. It’s incredibly normcore but we both come out of the conversation feeling like members of the intellectual elite. Over his black truffle ice-cream and my dirty chai gelato I tell him all about my hometown and he asks about my past. My past is incredibly traumatic yet boring; he seems disinterested so I feel that it would only be polite to talk about something else.

“So I’ve got this great Aboriginal art collection—

– I’d love to see it.”

We’re now in my apartment.

“So here’s our living room, it’s pretty nice I guess, even though we got all our furniture off Gumtree.”

“It’s really nice for a student sharehouse.”

“Thanks – so this is my rooooooom…”

I fling the door open; my room is clean and smells of vanilla and Vaseline.

“Wow! You’re so clean!”

“I always clean it when I’m expecting guests.” I slowly turn my head to gauge his reaction –

He’s Richie Strahan. Oh my god he’s Richie Strahan. That’s why he looked so bloody familiar. Oh my god he’s dating at least five different tall blonde women and THERE’S NO WAY I’M GETTING A ROSE BECAUSE I’M A BRUNETTE.

Yet somehow, whether it be magic or sufficiently advanced technology, he’s smiling.

“I just think you’re really incredible, and really beautiful, and I’d love to get to know you more and I was wondering whether you would accept this rose…”

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”

“Let’s do it.”

Before we know it, we’re having sex. It’s missionary, and then missionary but the other way around. It’s very vanilla, which I appreciate. His abs are perfect. He clearly works out. He has a two-day stubble which is hot but my favourite part is his tongue – it’s incredibly flexible and fast.

Twelve-and-a-half minutes later we’re lying side by side in my double bed. We’re spooning as I fantasise about telling my friends about that one time I slept with Bachie Dickie BachDick. Content with the day’s events, I prepared to reap the rewards of my efforts: a heater in the shape of a human.

So, as if we’ve both done this before, possibly with other people, we settled into the position of big spoon and little spoon. Exhausted, I prepared myself for sl—

“Wait. Why is your body so cold?”

“Wh– what do you mean haha cool bananas my body’s like everyone else’s, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

As he said this I felt his cool tongue flick against my neck – IT WAS FORKED.

You’re a lizard, Bachie!”

“Crikey, I guess you know now. I was just so terrified because you’re absolutely incredible and I just didn’t know how to tell you that I was actually a lizard person. We’ve just had such an incredible journey – “

“ – dude, we only met this morning, like, I was just trying to get to class in Union Court and…”

“Look, let’s just go to sleep, and then we can talk about it in the morning.”

I was up all night,I couldn’t sleep all night unable to sleep. My back rested against his stomach, and I could feel his ectothermic system absorb heat from my body, speeding up the rate at which our romantic dinner was digested.

As he awoke the next morning, probably from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in my bed into a giant lizard.

“ARGGH IT’S LIKE THE METAMORPHOSIS.” On the outside, I was screaming, but on the inside, my inner goddess was beaming with that reference.

He did not have the grace to look abashed – for he was now a giant lizard. He slithered down, his bloated reptilian belly knocked my bedsheet to the floor. His small arms reached for me – a farewell hug?

No. In his hand is a bright green A5 piece of paper. On it, are the words “CONNECT 2018”.

He whispers in my ear: “The next fazzssseeeeee has begun.”