Yesterday, July 19th would have been 10 months wed to George. The day went very well, in a large part because it’s also my dads 65th birthday. How can I be sad on a birthday? I can’t so instead I decided to reflect on the last few months of my horrid decision making and think its about time I document my worst date to date.
I really need to be more careful about who I give my number out to. Especially in dark bars where the lighting can make anyone with defined cheek bones look like a D-list movie star. I’m also a sucker for a man who can string together a series of words and form an articulated sentence. Call me old-fashioned but something about a sentence without added nouns can really make my heart beat a little faster.
The problem is when phone calls commence and texting perpetuates. It’s like, c’mon guy, why are you all over me. Give me some breathing room! A phone number isn’t an invitation to nonstop conversations. By the way, I know how ridiculous this sounds, but I guess I like the idea of being pursued. Not the actual act of it.
So I was briefly talking to this guy, and admittedly I didn’t recall what he looked like but I did remember he was smart. We decided to go out together and the date was set. I was excited, kind of. Usually I’m excited about the lead up to the day, but on the day can find at least a dozen other things I rather do than go out. We met up for coffee and it was a beautiful day out. I was enjoying a iced coffee outside and he walked up to me. Before he even said hello, I dropped my head and started trying to recall why I was there again. I think the platitude is, I wouldn’t even (insert activity) if you were the last man on earth. Yea it was that.
But I smiled and continuously glanced at my cell phone praying I would receive an emergency call. Nothing. As we were having our drinks he was going on and on about his recent trip to the Caribbean, and I was dreaming of him randomly passing out so I can make a get away. I should get rope and slip it into my partners drink when the date has gone terribly wrong so I can just leave without an excuse or reason. And when they come to it would be as if it was all a dream…
Anyway, as we planned the date earlier we decided on having a picnic together. I know, I know, I can’t believe I would agree to something so ambitious as a first outing. I’ve learned since then, so please bear with my idiocy. After the coffees I knew the picnic was coming, but thankfully he had made sangria. As we headed to the picnic spot I was gulping down the fruity beverage wishing it would hit my veins fast. The bastard didn’t make it strong enough and I was pretty much rolling in agony once we laid the blanket out.
Sitting next to him under a tree served for one of the most uncomfortable and unpleasant experiences I have encountered in my single life. The stories he was telling me about his last girlfriend and how she stalked him after they broke up was as made up as a eagle with a head of a lion. I did not believe for one second that this guy could entice a woman to yearn for him to the extent that she would wait for him to come home on his porch. Unless he found the one woman who was turned on by a man, in his 30s, who still chewed with his mouth open. As the outing continued on, he did try to make moves by brushing up against me and trying to tickle the back of my knees. Having spiders crawl on my body was more appealing then him.
The day eventually ended- not fast enough- and I was standing outside of my car with him by my side. It was a very hot day and his button down was somewhat damp and he had sweat speckled on his forehead. I smiled and thanked him and gave a quick hug, and he placed his hands on my shoulder and inched closer to my face. As I write this a faint taste of regurgitation just happened. I did not kiss him, I patted his chest, and jumped into my car and immediately deleted his number.
It was about a 6 hour date and I saw it as punishment for possibly being so selfish for my personal dating philosophy post-George.