By Christine Lavosky
I’ve always been a bender of the truth, a teller of tall tales, a fan of embellishing anecdotes or, as I like to say, taking artistic liberties. But the liberties I took never made their recipient feel manipulated or so deceived that they weren’t even sure who I was anymore. I never made them question the truth of anything I ever told them in the future. None of my fictionalized accounts were told with the intention of fogging reality or making someone like me based on a fake persona I made up for myself. Because I was so used to being the one behind the light-hearted fib or story embellishment, it was especially unsettling to be so masterfully and deliberately duped as I was by my catfisher.
“Hey, there, you’re Christine, I’m guessing?” said the charmingly accented man sitting at a cast-iron table in the Common.
“I am! And then you must be Daryl,” I responded as he slid a Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee across the table to me.
“Thanks, that was nice of you,” I said. He had texted me when he’d stopped for coffee to ask if I wanted any.
* *
Daryl first started cultivating his persona last April shortly before summer break. After having an amusing nonsensical conversation on OkCupid, I gave him my phone number and proceeded to ask him the typical questions.
Where did you say you were frum again?
I’m from Perth Australia, luved there with my mam, then when I was a 10 y.o I moved to a place an hour north of here, then I went to school in Vermont. Now I’m here! It just gets better and better!
As an admitted fetishist of Australian and English guys, I was immediately intrigued when I read this text. I imagined us lunching at a cute café while he regaled me with stories told in an Australian accent. I automatically pre-formulated some Australia jokes and references (maybe the dingo ate yo babay!)
He had just the sort of irreverent, odd sense of humor I loved. He’d written on his profile that he was a OkCupid detective. The first text he sent me was:
Christine? My file says you’re a fantastical creature from NJ? Is this true? Are you the Jersey Devil? Who am I? These are the questions.
I found him wildly amusing and replied to his witty banter:
Daryl? Dar-ell? Spelling? I am no Devil! U are a detective of an online dating site! These are the answers.
We went on this way effortlessly for a week; it was like a fun little dialogue I could just pull out of my pocket at any time for instant amusement. I’d never known anyone except my best friend who was so good at nonsensical texting before. I was smitten.
* *
I returned from that first date in the Common gushing as only a boy-crazy middle schooler can. I told my suitemates about Daryl and my epic journey around Boston; we went all around the Common, then the Garden, then around Faneuil Hall and the Financial District until eventually we didn’t know where we were anymore! I told them about how we’d talked about anything and everything, from rejecting the Christianity both our sets of parents had forced upon us in favor of a more humanist philosophy, to our anxiety about “the singularity” actually happening. He’d been just as funny and clever in person as he was over text, which I’d previously thought impossible. I even waxed cliché and said it felt like we’d known each other for our entire lives. I told them his Australian accent was everything I’d hoped it would be. They seemed almost astonished at my first-date good fortune and congratulated me heavily. He texted me only an hour after I’d gotten home from the date. Everyone thought it was the start of something great, and, at the expense of sounding cheesy, even something beautiful.
To be continued…
Christine Lavosky is a Sophomore WLP major from Northern New Jersey. In addition to being a writer for Lash, she is the editor-in-chief of a visual art and literature magazine currently in its infancy, The Emerson Eye. In her free moments she loves knitting somewhat lopsided hats and frolicking through the Garden.
I’ve always been a bender of the truth, a teller of tall tales, a fan of embellishing anecdotes or, as I like to say, taking artistic liberties. But the liberties I took never made their recipient feel manipulated or so deceived that they weren’t even sure who I was anymore. I never made them question the truth of anything I ever told them in the future. None of my fictionalized accounts were told with the intention of fogging reality or making someone like me based on a fake persona I made up for myself. Because I was so used to being the one behind the light-hearted fib or story embellishment, it was especially unsettling to be so masterfully and deliberately duped as I was by my catfisher.
“Hey, there, you’re Christine, I’m guessing?” said the charmingly accented man sitting at a cast-iron table in the Common.
“I am! And then you must be Daryl,” I responded as he slid a Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee across the table to me.
“Thanks, that was nice of you,” I said. He had texted me when he’d stopped for coffee to ask if I wanted any.
* *
Daryl first started cultivating his persona last April shortly before summer break. After having an amusing nonsensical conversation on OkCupid, I gave him my phone number and proceeded to ask him the typical questions.
Where did you say you were frum again?
I’m from Perth Australia, luved there with my mam, then when I was a 10 y.o I moved to a place an hour north of here, then I went to school in Vermont. Now I’m here! It just gets better and better!
As an admitted fetishist of Australian and English guys, I was immediately intrigued when I read this text. I imagined us lunching at a cute café while he regaled me with stories told in an Australian accent. I automatically pre-formulated some Australia jokes and references (maybe the dingo ate yo babay!)
He had just the sort of irreverent, odd sense of humor I loved. He’d written on his profile that he was a OkCupid detective. The first text he sent me was:
Christine? My file says you’re a fantastical creature from NJ? Is this true? Are you the Jersey Devil? Who am I? These are the questions.
I found him wildly amusing and replied to his witty banter:
Daryl? Dar-ell? Spelling? I am no Devil! U are a detective of an online dating site! These are the answers.
We went on this way effortlessly for a week; it was like a fun little dialogue I could just pull out of my pocket at any time for instant amusement. I’d never known anyone except my best friend who was so good at nonsensical texting before. I was smitten.
* *
I returned from that first date in the Common gushing as only a boy-crazy middle schooler can. I told my suitemates about Daryl and my epic journey around Boston; we went all around the Common, then the Garden, then around Faneuil Hall and the Financial District until eventually we didn’t know where we were anymore! I told them about how we’d talked about anything and everything, from rejecting the Christianity both our sets of parents had forced upon us in favor of a more humanist philosophy, to our anxiety about “the singularity” actually happening. He’d been just as funny and clever in person as he was over text, which I’d previously thought impossible. I even waxed cliché and said it felt like we’d known each other for our entire lives. I told them his Australian accent was everything I’d hoped it would be. They seemed almost astonished at my first-date good fortune and congratulated me heavily. He texted me only an hour after I’d gotten home from the date. Everyone thought it was the start of something great, and, at the expense of sounding cheesy, even something beautiful.
To be continued…
Christine Lavosky is a Sophomore WLP major from Northern New Jersey. In addition to being a writer for Lash, she is the editor-in-chief of a visual art and literature magazine currently in its infancy, The Emerson Eye. In her free moments she loves knitting somewhat lopsided hats and frolicking through the Garden.