So I couldn't cancel on POP (Perfect On Paper), my staid lawyer, who couldn’t quite compare in person to the interesting guy on email and phone. For reasons I still can’t comprehend, I agreed to this second date, and haven’t been able to call it off. Not after all the build up. The plan was for me to drive to his place, and from there we would leave for this chi-chi restaurant and meet up with his friends. Did I forget to mention that for our second date he wants me to meet his “very best friends?”
So, I arrive at his place looking conservative but good. I don’t want to encourage this situation by trying to look too good – or god forbid showing off the twins. He opened the door and greeted me with. "You look ravishing!"
Who says that? I mean, seriously, what normal, interesting, thirtysomething uses the word ‘ravishing’ without irony? He went in for the kiss and I pulled a Heisman, gliding past him with an eager "show me your beautiful apartment." I could have given two stale turds about his abode, but if it saved me from his tongue I would have gazed at his pantry closet for weeks.
After a thankfully abridged apartment tour we arrive at La Bote, this fabulous restaurant in Santa Monica. We arrive first and he starts submerging me in compliments. I needed a lifejacket – I was about to drown. Finally his friends arrived, like a beacon of hope; two more people could bring an actual conversation to this otherwise staid chat.
POP makes formal introductions and then the menu debate begins. We decide we're going to share lots of dishes and everyone was to pick a dish. All 6 of my choices were vetoed by POP because they:
-wouldn’t compliment the anti-pasta
-wouldn’t marry with the wine
-wouldn’t go with the mode of the evening
While annoying, I think I was beginning to be glad that he vetoed my choices. Now I can just hate him for being a pretentious asshole. But it doesn’t end here. After we finally get our order together, POP sends back two bottles of wine.
POP insists that the best friends tell me how they were engaged. They seemed nice when they sat down, but who could have foreseen that that this simple story would involve such painfully hideous detail that it would be a 30 minute story of rose petals in bathtubs and bended knee proposals. I excused myself to the bathroom. Where unfortunately there was no emergency date exit and no smelling salts. I debated inventing an attack of diarrhea to get me out of the evening. Realizing that this wasn't necessarily the classiest option, and I didn't want strangers to comment on my colon… I returned to the dinner table, but not until I had sent 7 emergency SOS text messages to friends.
Throughout dinner I felt myself shutting down. His hand would go on my thigh and I would recoil like he was the Ebola monkey. I couldn't even feign charm or interest. I tried. I really did.
After dinner we started back to his place in silence… total and complete silence. I coughed a few times hoping that it would ignite conversation. Then, like Hiroshima, he exploded with "Why did you come if you were going to be miserable?!"
I apologized, and said "I wanted to give this date a chance. You were so excited. You called me every day about it."
"Well I was miserable," he said, "thank you for that." I muttered another apology, but I thought I needed to lay out a few facts for POP.
"Look, I think this date was premature. It was only our second date and I was meeting best friends, and you're having them tell me engagement stories… it’s too much.”
We reach his place, but not before he launches into me again. By this point, I’d had it. There was just no point in continuing this; I had already lost several hours of my life. I drove home and immediately logged on to the computer. I called back a J-Date guy who I had been emailing and made plans to grab a drink that night.
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