Dating Blogger Emily: Entry 2
I could totally be a rabbi’s wife and after that first shockingly clever, sweet and almost perfect first e-mail, from Rabbi-in-Training (R.I.T), I was ready to get hitched and host my first sisterhood brunch. Naturally, I re-read (4 times) his … Read More
I could totally be a rabbi’s wife and after that first shockingly clever, sweet and almost perfect first e-mail, from Rabbi-in-Training (R.I.T), I was ready to get hitched and host my first sisterhood brunch. Naturally, I re-read (4 times) his profile as all varsity J-daters do, and he appears to pass:
Employed or potential to be employed: check.
Sense of humor: check.
Love of the theater: check mate….and decidedly un-gay.
Having just had an OB/GYN J-date etch a drawing of my uterus, I’ve been a little gun shy with boys, but I’m going to give R.I.T. the benefit of the doubt. Actually, I gave him more then the benefit. On the second e-mail exchange I did the J-date unthinkable and gave him my phone number. After hitting send, I had a tsunami surge of e-mailer’s remorse and thought I was waaay too forward. Giving my number, unasked, had to make me the Hester Prinn of J-date. After convincing myself that I was a total whore and branding myself with a Scarlet “J,” the phone rang and it was him: R.I.T.
We talked for over and hour, and made plans to meet for drinks, but now I have a major problem? . What does one wear to meet a R.I.T? Do I go sexy or Amish? I decide for a happy medium. (Ass jeans and a shirt that safely covers the twins.)
Skipping ahead to date night…
So I’m staring at the bar door waiting for my Knight in Rabbinic armor to arrive, and I see a banker, probable doctor, a stoner, a slacker and look, there’s Gollum! But Gollum looks sort of like my R.I.T…he can’t be searching for me, he has to be looking for the ring. OHHHH NOOO. NOOOO. He is so NOT my R.I.T, he’s only 5’1. Quickly, I think back to his profile and remember seeing “Height” 5’10.” There was a zero at the end. I know there was a zero. I didn’t want to say anything lest I be smited by a man of G-d in Training. But, he’s the Mayor of Munchkinland. He can’t ride the rides at Disney. He would need a booster seat. I felt like I was rubbernecking on my own date-wreck. If only I could call Triple “J” to get me out of this crash.
He hoisted himself up on the bar stool and we made stupid awkward conversation which was a total and a complete blur. I only remember is him saying, “I guess you noticed that I accidentally added a zero at the end of the 5’1 on my profile.” At that point I was a bit confused. I wasn’t sure if I should be more pissed that he lied or thought I was a complete idiot and would believe his lie. You don’t mistakenly place zeros anywhere! Needless to say, the date was short (no pun intended.)
I’m sure he thinks the reason I won’t go out with him again is his height, the reason I won’t go out with him is because he’s a LIAR. (Truly, I could care less about his height.)
On a much much more positive note, I’ve been sort of kind of seeing this sweet lil’ stock broker and he’s coming over this week for dinner and to watch Season 1 of Entourage. Sweet banker sent me roses to wish me luck on my first day at the new job, so he can’t be that bad.
[For more of Emily's dating columns, click here.]