Sunday, January 8, 2012


     Remember how I said I'd received some text messages wishing me at happy new year and how I wondered if any of those messages would lead to actual dates?  Well they did.  I had four dates this past week.  How's that for a conversion factor?
     Most of these dates were normal.  We talked about regular things and nothing super strange happened.  Except on one of the dates.  I met my date at a bar.  He was already there waiting for me.  I took off my coat and ordered one of the bar's Prohibition Era cocktails.  I'd barely had one sip when my date asked if he could try my drink.  I'd just sat down.  I'd just met him and he already wanted to share something.  I knew I'd feel like a jerk if I responded "no" so I gave in and let him have a sip.  But I didn't want him to try my drink, he didn't even ask to use a straw.
     Then later on in the date he asked if he could touch my hair.  Yes, I'm serious.  He asked to touch my hair--apparently he'd never touched curly hair before.  Again, I said "ok" and let him touch my hair, even though I became repulsed by whole situation.
     And because the third time's a charm, he asked to try my second drink when I ordered it.  Hey, I have an idea, if you want to try more than the one type of drink you've ordered twice, then order a new drink and stop asking to try mine.  Ugg.  I wish I'd stood up to him and said no, no and no to all three of his requests.  But I never said I was a master dater and this kind of clarity comes to me later long after the date is over.  Like now.  Bottom line, I'm not feeling a second date with this guy who apparently felt so comfortable with me.
     Now, I'm not saying I don't say strange things on dates.  Last summer on a date at the Rangers baseball game I told my date that I had swamp ass.  There's nothing nice or ladylike about that comment or about having that condition, but I thought it was hysterical and it was unfortunately true.  My date was not amused at first, but then admitted it was pretty funny.  Hey, that's what you get for taking me to a baseball game in Texas in the August summer heat promising we'll get to sit in air-conditioning for part of the game and then never taking me to the a/c.  For the record, that relationship didn't last.  We didn't understand each other's humor.  And I'd like to also report that he had swamp-ass too.  I saw his butt cheek sweat marks on his seat when we got up to leave.  So there.

No comments:

Post a Comment