You Cannot Hide in Minimalist Furniture

(Oops my text is longer than the page allows. It's all skewed and off center, my bad)


We’d only met that night at the bar, but somehow, in-

between drinks, we hit it off. She called herself ‘new age minimalist’

whatever that means. Probably another word for hipster. But I went with it; I mean, you

don’t walk away from stunners like her and hide, 

even when they start explaining the value of ‘cold lighting’ and ‘simple furniture

design.’ Most importantly, if they ask you to walk them home, you cannot

for the life of you say no. Don’t be fooled, this is her ‘minimalist’ choice of mating call. It cannot,

be mistaken for anything else. I sure caught the hint. Next thing we know, in-

side her small apartment, all bets (and garments) are off, the furniture

pushed aside and I learn ‘uncomfortably hard couch’ is just another phrase for minimalist.

But you go with it. That is, until you hear a sharp knock. Suddenly she’s whisper-screaming ‘HIDE!’

at you with frantic wild eyes, and you’re half naked, and she’s chucking your clothes at you.

You.

Cannot.

Hide.

In.

Minimalist.

Furniture.

So you learn she’s not exactly ‘available’…well whoops. Behind what furniture

did she expect me to hide! For future reference, if ever you

find yourself in this situation, don’t. go. for. the. closet. Big mistake. It’s just as minimalist-

ic as the rest of the damn apartment. No matter how stunning she was, I cannot

even begin to describe how ‘not worth it’ this was. There I was, holed up uncomfortably in

a tiny closet. That is, until a voice from outside boomed for me to ‘GET OUT!’ or he’d skin my hide.

It was all very dramatic. Sorry pal, I get that you’re the boyfriend here, but I rather like my hide.

In the darkness, albeit fumbling, I’d managed to put my pants back on. I saw the furniture

we’d haphazardly pushed away was still in disarray when he pulled me out. Within

seconds a fist was flying at my nose. Not gonna lie, he was a big dude and trust me you

don’t wanna be on the receiving end of a punch like that. Words cannot

describe the pain. The moral here: I was duped by a vixen, a temptress, a self-proclaimed minimalist.

But I’m not bitter; my face may be sore, yes, but I like to think I learned something from my new minimalist

friend. I learned that to have a successful, sans-injury escapade you have to be good at hide(ing).

I learned that while fun, falling privy to the lure of beautiful women cannot

be the wisest decision I’ve ever made. Woah, I’m the other man… Cool? I learned furniture,

in the ‘new age’ period we live in, has abandoned all standards of comfort. So stupid, you

can’t expect people to live in a cold, sleek museum and feel genuine happiness. Not possible. In

retrospect, if you take anything away from this, be it: always check for a significant other.

Or make sure they’re out of town. Or at least plan an escape route beforehand.

Let this be a lesson; don’t make my mistake: in minimalist furniture, hide you cannot.