The Mating Habits of the INTJ Female

I want to state for the record that it wasn’t love at first sight— we’d been doing the e-mail thing for six months. And it wasn’t the first date. That didn’t seal it either. It was the sexy born yesterday thing that eventually got me.

“It’s so good to finally meet you in person,” I said, standing up to greet Aubrey. 

“Yeah,” Aubrey said.

I reached out my arms to say—I’m gonna hug you now. Aubrey remained glued to her corner of the table. So, naturally, I tried to close the distance. After all, we’d been sitting in our respective apartments sending each other e-mails—talking about meeting up—for the better part of a calendar year. After all that anticipation, not to even hug hello seemed like a criminal offense.

Aubrey pulled out her chair, sat down, and crossed her legs. She placed her hands in her lap. She took a moment to open the silverware rollup and to drape the napkin over her crossed legs. 

Then she looked at the empty chair across from her.

The waitress bumped into me in the narrow aisle, where Aubrey had left me standing, and I took the hint and sat down. The waitress huffed a bit as she passed. Seemed like she was having a bad day.

Augustino’s is the kind of place that could have been a regular hangout for Tony Soprano. It’s about the size of a small walk-up apartment. Glass topped tables. White linen tablecloths. Exposed brick. Clean tile floors. Smells wafting from the kitchen. Bartenders and servers dressed in shirt sleeves and ties. Sinatra playing from the overhead speakers. And they turn the tables like clockwork. The food is incredible, and it gives real-deal Scenes from an Italian Restaurant vibes. If you ever go, try the pork chop. Trust me on this.

“Martini, straight up, dirty with olives… Kettle One please,” I said.

“And for you, miss?” the waitress asked.

“Water,” she said.

“Umm, sparkling, flat, or mineral?”

“Just water,” she said.

And with that, the waitress disappeared.

“I’m going to apologize ahead of time,” she said, “my therapist has given me a list of social tasks I am required to accomplish, otherwise I would not be here right now,” Aubrey said.

“Understood,” I said.

The waitress was headed back to the table carrying a tray with two tap waters. Then Johnny Depp walked in—can you believe it? F**king Johnny Depp. With a bunch of friends. The waitress turned her head in disbelief and the tray tilted. I watched the whole thing happen in slow motion but couldn’t do a thing about it. A full glass of water spilled on my shirt and in my lap.

The waitress apologized profusely. Aubrey started handing me napkins she’d taken off of the rollups on some other nearby tables.

“Oh my God! I’m so, so sorry,” the waitress said. She went on for about 15-20 seconds of Oh my Gods and so, so sorrys and the like before coming up for air.

“Think nothing of it,” I told her, “It happens to the best of us. At least now I look like I’ve been lounging at the pool all day and can pass off a credible story for this shirt!”

Aubrey stared at me without blinking as I dabbed at the wet shirt. Her face was like the blue screen you get on a computer when it is in the middle of crashing.

“I would have flipped a shit,” Aubrey said.

“It really isn’t a big deal. It isn’t like she did it on purpose. No reason to let it ruin our evening,” I told her.

She slouched and looked down with a craned neck and then looked up through the tops of her eyes.

“By the way, is there any particular reason you are wearing a Hawaiian shirt and have your Ray Bans on indoors?” Aubrey asked.

“Yeah, actually there is,” I said.

“Care to enlighten me,” she said, finally lifting her hands off of her lap and turning her palms to the ceiling, but quickly repositioning them.

“Sure. I know you’re a touch shy, so I thought I’d dress so ridiculously that all night not one person would pay the slightest attention to anything you were doing,” I told her.

She blushed. I saw it. It was small. She let it slip. But I saw it. It was the first time I got the sexy born yesterday vibe. I flashed a big mile-wide smile, showing all of my teeth, and blushed too. When she saw how ridiculous I looked, beaming like that, with Johnny Depp in attendance no less, the two of us both started laughing at the same time.

It was the only time all night I heard her laugh.

We wrapped it up after the meal. After all, it was a Monday.

I went for a small kiss outside Augustino’s. She turned the cheek. It was bad, ok. But not as bad as the preemptive cheek kiss. So, I took it and ran.

I was under no illusions this would be easy.

But as I walked back to my apartment, I skipped along a little and thought about what it was about her that had me tied up in knots.

Aubrey was different. We can agree on that. 

But it was the profoundly naïve, infinitely wise thing that kept me coming back for more. 

My previous girlfriend was a model. A literal sex symbol. Cold as a fish. Swilled vodka like a kid sniffing paint thinner. Sharp as nails on the outside. Crippled with anxiety on the inside. She couldn’t take off the mask for a moment. You know? 

And she was not the slightest bit self-aware.

So, for me, Aubrey was authentic. 

She knew exactly what she was. And what we all were too. 

And she wasn’t apologizing for any of it. 

She was a fish out of water, that’s for sure. Hell, a fish that had never seen water.

But she was what she was. And that was a fact.

* * *

From: Jonah.Giordano@hoohah.com

Sent: Monday, September 18, 2023 at 11:10 PM

To: Aubrey.Platz@hoohah.com

Subject: Great Meeting You

Aubrey:

What a great night! Looking forward to the next one. Let’s get another fun outing on the books next week.

--Jonah

P.S. I can’t promise I won’t wear a Hawaiian shirt next time—but I can promise it won’t be the same one! Also, next time, let’s not do it on a Monday.

* * *

From: Aubrey.Platz@hoohah.com

Sent: Monday, September 18, 2023 at 11:45 PM

To: Jonah.Giordano@hoohah.com

Subject: Great Meeting You

Jonah,

Thank you for writing. I’ll let you know when I’ll be free.

Thanks,

--Aubrey

* * *

From: Aubrey.Platz@hoohah.com

Sent: Tuesday, September 19, 2023 at 3:54 AM

To: Doctor.Ron@hoohah.com

Subject: Disaster?

Dr. Ron:

I completed your assignment. By the way, going on a live date with Jonah was a disaster. He tried to hug me when we walked in. He got a little drunk. He wore a Hawaiian T-shirt and shades. Mortifying. Asked me a million questions.

For some reason, Johnny Depp was eating at the same restaurant as us. Thank God. It soaked up all of the attention. 

And, get this, he tried to kiss me when we left. 

I honestly can’t think of one thing about me he would be interested in. He’s assertive, confident, and graceful under pressure—the waitress spilled a whole glass of water on him and he didn’t flinch. 

What is my next assignment?

-- Aubrey

* * *

I met her at the entrance to the Cauldron on Stone Street and she handed me a black cloak with red lettering and red trim by the collar. It had the words Gryffindor written on the front.

“What is this,” I asked.

“You’re going to need it,” Aubrey said.

“And what are we doing here?” I asked.

“Potion making,” Aubrey said.

“When you said what you wanted for Christmas was to be a witch, I didn’t know you meant it literally?” I said.

“I did,” Aubrey said with a deadpan, Wednesday Addams look on her face.

We were greeted by Gabby—a woman with Mexican Calavera make-up on—the kind worn at Dia de Muertos festivities. Gabby’s eyes were painted in big black circles. Her nose was painted black too. Lips were painted in black stitches. The rest of her face was white with little red flower embroidery around the eyes, with the eyebrows, upper jaw, and forehead all stippled with black. She had paper roses and carnations in her hair.

She walked us up a long staircase and passed a sheet into a small room with five separate four-seaters. There was netting on the ceiling and strings of hanging red carnations hung down. There were also fake cobwebs. There was a black and gold sign by the door. Strings of purple lights were strewn through the webbing, and a fog machine was belting out little white puffs that collected by the ceiling. There was a burnt glycerin smell from the heating coil and a damp cold ambiance like a medieval castle throughout.

“Great,” Aubrey said, nudging me with her elbow, “we are going to be seated with another couple.”

We were seated with another couple—they on their side of the table—us on ours. Denny was about 6’4” and skinny. An awkward, gentle giant. He was wearing a red wig. Jane was about 5’3” and had bright yellow hair that was teased out on the sides. Both had diagonal-striped red and yellow ties over white shirts and red and yellow scarves over top of those.

“My name is Gabby and I will be your Potion Master for the evening. Just do as I say, and everything will go just fine. Fail to heed my instructions and there will be Die-r consequences, ha, hahhaha. By day I am an aspiring actress going on casting auditions, and by night I am an undead witches’ instructor at the most prestigious potion-making institution in the land. I will be back in a moment with the ingredients for your first assignment. Anyone need a drink?”

“Two shots of tequila,” Aubrey said.

“Do you have tea?—” Denny asked.

“—I’ll take a Shirley Temple,” Jane chimed in.

I turned to Aubrey and said to her, “Is this another one of your assignments?”

“Go on an interactive date with another couple,” she said, with her head inclined downward.

“And you decided that a Harry Potter theme bar with a potion-making class was the perfect way to check that lovely item off your list?” I asked.

“At least they haven’t spilled anything on your Hawaiian shirt yet,” Aubrey said.

“I wore the black one for the occasion,” I told her.

“It could have been worse, this won out over salsa lessons and a team of two scrabble tournament,” Aubrey said.

“I could have gone for salsa lessons,” I said.

Gabby reappeared and set down two shots in front of Aubrey and me and went back for Denny’s tea and Jane’s Shirley Temple. Aubrey took the first shot straight. Then looked up at me blankly. And took the second. She drew her lips to the side and gave a single dry cough.

“I’ll get us two more,” she said.

Gabby reappeared with a wheeled two-tier cart on which she had mason jars, pitchers of gin, maraschino cherries, raspberries, herbs, beakers, licorice sticks, wands, viles, a martini strainer, and a black cauldron of steaming dry ice.

“Well my dears,” Gabby said, “it is time for our first potion! Take out your instruction books and mix up our first concoction, the Blood Boiling Curse. Once you get to the magical part of the spell, call me back and I will supply a heaping of fairy dust. Any time you need to summon me just yell Argleblargle and I shall return. Argleblargle!”

Within about 2.5 seconds from Gabby leaving, Aubrey had finished the potions, and she immediately yelled out “Argleblargle.” Gabby almost got whiplash turning back around and dragging her cart back to the table.

“We are not going to get beat by these losers,” Aubrey whispered to me, getting the choker of her wizard’s cloak caught on mine.

As Gabby dipped a ladle in the dry ice and poured some into our mugs, Denny tried to use his mug to dip into the dry ice bucket, before finishing up the remainder of the brew instructions.

“Don’t do that. That’s cheating. That is not right,” Aubrey said to Denny, using her wand to block him from dipping his mug in the cauldron. Denny and Jane just stared at her in shock. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Aubrey said to me, then turned back to Denny, “I hope you’re happy. Have a great night tonight,” she said to Denny, then turned back to me, “Let’s go, let’s just go, we’ll get a drink somewhere else.”

And just like that, we were out of there. We stopped by Ulysses across the street for another cocktail, and then I called an Uber home. When I dropped her off, she turned and kissed me unexpectedly, getting black lipstick all over my lips. It was a peck, then she pulled back. Then she dived right in and grabbed the back of my head and went with the gusto.

“Not a bad first kiss,” Aubrey told me. And then unceremoniously strolled to her door.

Things were developing nicely. 

* * *

From: Aubrey.Platz@hoohah.com

Sent: Friday, September 22, 2023 at 10:45 PM

To: Doctor.Ron@hoohah.com

Subject: Another Shitty Birthday

Dr. Ron:

I spent my birthday alone, which is what I wanted. You try to stay out of people’s way, but they always find a way to ruin everything. At the office today, they sang Happy Birthday, just before lunch. It was low-key awful, which was a relief. It could have been unbearable. They just stayed in their cubicles and sang half-heartedly. Nothing to see here.

But Bob, the cringy, greasy meatball in the cubicle directly across from me, wasn’t reading the room. He sang from the top of his lungs as if his life depended on it. So embarrassing. If you can believe this, he was wearing a silk shirt. A double-paneled silk shirt—green and black.

I really am having no luck with men’s shirts recently.

So, I peeled the banana I had brought for lunch, walked over, and smushed it all over his shirt—really dug it in there. 

I really hated that job anyway.

Counseling tomorrow?

--Aubrey

* * *

It was Saturday night and Aubrey was coming over to my place. I straightened everything up and made sure the bathroom was clean. I even made my bed.

I had ordered oysters, clams casino, some rock shrimp, and seafood pasta. Had it all ready to go with serving dishes. And had a Prosecco chilling. Had a little charcuterie board with salami slices, prosciutto, brie, goat cheese, and a parmesan set out on a cutting board.

Aubrey knocked on the door of my fifth-floor walk-up, and I let her in.

“Sorry about the scene I made the other night,” Aubrey said, walking in and throwing her jacket over a chair, “I am having trouble with stress lately, and this list of social immersion exercises is extremely tiring.”

“I get it,” I told her.

As we were eating some clam appetizers, Aubrey pointed at my bare feet and said, “Could you maybe put some socks on. I have a thing with feet.”

Emerging from my bedroom with Snoopy socks on, I resumed my perch on my stool at the counter island of my kitchen where we were eating.

“You know, I just changed jobs—I’m going to be working in criminal forensics—did you know that when you walk on a surface barefoot, you leave markings that can be traced just like fingerprints, and even though there isn’t a database, they’ve placed several serial killers at the scene of a crime based on the fact they walked around barefoot and left footprints?”

“I did not know that,” I told her.

“You aren’t a serial killer are you?” she asked, as if genuinely curious.

I just gave her a quick kiss.

“Not while we’re eating,” she said and returned to picking at her clam with a fork.

“Did you know that the analysis of hairs left at a crime scene and shoe patterns in blood or dirt at crime scenes have a higher rate of false positives than they are worth, leading to many false convictions? Hairs and shoe patterns are both extremely common, due to similarities in hair epidermal tissue and the mass production of treads?”

And there it is. Sexy born yesterday. She is profoundly naïve, infinitely wise. I can see the innocence and untouched potential, a blank slate. And yet, she has command of a thousand things at her fingertips that I know nothing about. That’s where she gets me.

“But you know what isn’t common?” I asked.

“What?” Aubrey said.

“You,” I told her.

“I can be a lot to deal with,” Aubrey said.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I told her.

Now I’d like to tell you that we lived happily ever after, and everything was all sunshine and rainbows from there on out. But that would be a lie. Anyway, that’s a story for another day.