Jul 10 2011
Greetings, Cool Peeps:
Just in case any of you were wondering if I was going to share more dating horror stories, alas, yes. Enough time has passed, I hope, so that I can recall some nightmarish first (and last!) dates without reliving the abject horror of each experience.
Let me start with Rodney. I met him at a July Fourth picnic given by a professional colleague, who, to say the least, was on the uptight, old money side. I was miserable at the get-together, so when I met a happy-go-lucky guy with a Spuds MacKenzie bull terrier (whom everyone but me wished would disappear), I was all too happy to spend time with him. He was such a breath of fresh air that I failed to remember that fresh air can get stale quickly.
Two weeks later, I met him at a local straunt, clueless that I was going not only to have a ghastly evening, but also to suffer public mortification. I had suggested Thai Gardens, but he chose Dick’s Steak House. To put it delicately, Rodney was an “enthusiastic” eater. He ordered Manhattan clam chowder as an appetizer, and three spoonfuls into it, his tie became submerged in the soup. He continued to chat lively, while I sat there frozen-faced, trying to pretend that several customers and most of the servers hadn’t all noticed. Finally, a male server came by and asked Rodney if he would like some more soup with his tie.
Rodney looked down at his soup bowl, looked at me, and said: “Oh, ha ha. I guess I was in the mood for Thai food after all.” I’ll move to the next date. Trust me, peeps, it only went downhill from there.
Looks aren’t everything. I learned that lesson fast the night I agreed to have dinner with Mr. Boring. I have never in my life had a fellow human being fill my head with more useless, mind-numbing, complex pieces of meaningless information in my life. “Conversation” with him was like talking to a brick wall. He wasn’t interested in my stories (which were quite scintillating) and I sure wasn’t interested in his. No, I do not care how you like your shirts laundered. I do not care that your boss and his wife disagreed on the naming of their twin boys. I do not care that your coworker is an advocate for gluten-free living or that your mother has 1500 Hummel statues, all displayed in her living room.
This man was the most insufferable yawn I had ever encountered in my life. As he finished his coffee, drinking slowly as he told me all about his neighbor’s new barbecue grill, I ticked away the seconds until he would take that last sip and I would be set free. When the server came over, I thought she was going to leave the check, and all would be right with the world.
She winked at me and turned to him. “More coffee?” she asked, filling his cup without waiting for a response. I wanted to die right there on the spot. But unfortunately, I lived. Forty-five minutes later, when I told Mister Boring I had a migraine and had to go home, those were the truest words I had ever spoken. Moving right along . . .
Everyone knows someone who is calculator happy at restaurants, right? It can be downright embarrassing when a dinner partner performs a stringent financial breakdown when the check comes, frantically punching numbers until the calculator says, “Stop, you’re hurting me!”
Peeps, I was lucky enough to avoid this humiliation. I met a man who liked to whip it out (his calculator) right after ordering dinner. Oh, yes, having a man stress over the dollar value of your meal really whets your appetite. I ended this nightmare quickly. With a smile on my face, I called over the server, canceled my dinner order, wished him and his number cruncher a lovely dinner, and went home and snuggled up with my favorite boy, my knight in shining fur, Captain Jack.
He actually called me the next day to ask me why I left.
Tell me, peeps, have you had first dates so awful that you’ve had to run from them? Please share; I love hearing your stories.
See you next week.
Yours in pickiness,