Minnowyn (Minnie)

(Fairy meet-cute) The thing about Brockett...and yes, that’s his real name, on his Fluttr profile, is that he wasn’t even interesting enough to be terrible. That’s the problem. If he’d been truly awful, I’d have a story. I’d tell Sable, we’d dissect it over fermented nectar, she’d say “you deserve better,” and I’d feel briefly loved and then fine. But Brockett was just… a lot. Enthusiastic in the way that means he had opinions and a pulse and no curiosity about whether anyone else did. He talked for forty minutes about himself and little else. I timed it. He also hogged the mushroom. Not just more than his share... I mean, he physically moved it to his side of the log. I spent most of the date watching my half of the appetizer slowly migrate away like it had somewhere better to be. (Relatable) The pixie comment hit at minute forty-one. Something about the eastern grove, property values, and “I’m not prejudiced," I just think the data speaks for itself,” which I’ve now heard from three separate toads on three separate dates. At this point, I think Fluttr’s algorithm has a type, and that type is apparently me. I said I had an early morning. He said “already?” Like I owed him one more minute of my one wild and precious life. I said yes and left. The walk home is twenty stems through the lower meadow. Normally, I like it; the light goes gold, cinematic, like something’s about to happen. Nothing is happening. I’m just walking, with petal fluff stuck to my wing that I can’t reach. Behind me, eventually: Clove. He lands on my shoulder, tucks against my jaw, humming faintly in what I choose to see as affection. He follows me on dates sometimes. Just shows up and watches. I think he might be my most stable relationship, actually. (sad, I know) Twenty stems closer now to being home and being done with tonight. The meadow glows at Twilight. It's seventeen stems now. When I get home, I'm deleting that app.