A while back in a parallel universe a girl was asked out on
a date by a gent with whom she gladly accepted his offer. Our sweet girl doesn’t much care for dating
given the drudgery, bad experiences and unrelenting first interview-style
meetings, but had been trying to put herself out there and test the waters in
hopes that one day she would fall madly, deeply in love with the right
suitor. She’d heard all about this love
thing her friends had been gushing over for years. She’d dipped her toes in that pond before,
but was never ready to take the full plunge, or rather her chosen gents had
always been looking in other ponds.
After a few weeks of communication and long-winded phone
conversations the evening had come for our sweet gal to meet this potential
gentleman. Our heroine was nervous to
meet this Mister as first impressions are sometimes gut-wrenching and intimidating,
but she soon acknowledged the fear of dating was just a means to a possible
happy ending so she proudly swallowed her fear and walked confidently into the
restaurant.
And there he was. At
first glance the butterflies in her stomach erupted and a natural smile came
about her. He was handsome, seemingly as
charming in person as he had been weeks prior over the tele. His first hug seemed genuine. Our sweet gal breathed a massive sigh of
relief and gave a silent shout out (and fist bump) to the dating gods thanking
them for sending such a witty and adorable gent as she had hoped for. He
politely opened a tab at the bar and so the date had officially began.
A couple of drinks later (in tandem with a couple of trips
to the ladies room), our heroine was definitely enjoying the Mister's camaraderie. The feeling appeared to be
very mutual. Very.
At this point our gal was giddy with delight and was happy
to continue the date through dinner. Things were on the up and up and
conversation flowed as fast and furious as lava spewing out of a recently
erupted volcano. Better yet, this gent
had asked our heroine out on a second date before the last bite had been
consumed and seemed to be as engaged in the evening as she was. Score.
Soon after finishing dinner and approximately two hours and
forty-five minutes into the date our gal politely excused herself to the ladies
room one last time. Upon arrival back at their table our gal
noticed the Mister was gone. Must have been he had to use the little boy’s room as
well? Or maybe he had to take an
emergency work phone call? Or was around
the corner purchasing a dozen roses for our fair gal? Minutes ticked on and no sign of the Mister. A sweet little waitress came by to refill the
water glasses and ask if everything was okay.
Our gal politely exchanged a bit of conversation and ensured the
waitress all was under control. Twenty minutes
later the Mister was still nowhere to be found.
Nowhere.
Our gal didn’t initially realize what had just happened to
her. She continued to sit and wait for the gent to reappear, but he never did.
The bar tender picked up on the scenario and came over to
check on our heroine. He offered to
check the restrooms to make sure the Mister wasn’t locked in the potty
stall dying of poopy fumage or something. Nothing. He checked the patio to make sure he didn’t
get caught up on the phone.
Nothing. Our heroine did what any chic would do. She called his cellphone. It went straight to voice mail. She tried one more time a few minutes later
just to make sure. Again, it went
straight to voice mail. She remarked to
herself that it seemed strange that his phone went straight to voice mail given
the phone was on and he had at one point checked on a “work text” earlier. Hmmmph.
The Mister had officially Houdini’d out of the restaurant without
any warning, notice or Morse code announcement.
Got sucked into the toilet and washed down the pipes. Or was abducted by the Mexican drug
cartel. Or aliens. He had gone.
Vanished. Evaporated. Or quickly became part of the witness
protection program. No one knew.
He had left our poor girl sitting alone at the table. Alone and devastated. But not before the waitress offered to run
his credit card. Declined. She ran it again. Declined a second time.
But perhaps the gut-wrenching blow to our heroine’s stomach
(or ego) of this not-so-fairytale is what the bartender told her soon after.
Bartender: Are you OK?
I’m sorry this happened to you.
Heroine: Oh, thanks for asking. I am just fine. It happens, I suppose.
Bartender: I’ve seen chics walk out on dudes mid-date,
but I’ve never seen a dude walk out on a chic.
Ever. Wow, I guess there’s a
first for everything.
Heroine: Do I have some sort of gnarly growth on my
forehead I can’t see? Did I shit my
pants and not notice the stench? Is
there a reality camera crew coming out to Punk’d me?
Bartender: Nope.
He just left you. Simple as
that. You just drew an unlucky straw.
Approximately three hours after she had first met this
seemingly decent soul our heroine was left dateless at a table to pick up the
check. And so she did, but not without holding her head up high and asking the
bartender to walk her to her car.
Because, she wasn’t exactly sure if this Mister might jump out of an alley
and try and well, you know…cause a drama-infused scene.
Just before bedtime our heroine continued to reflect upon
the evening. What started off as a fun
time quickly erupted into a SITC sitcom episode in which our heroine was the lead actress, though she didn't know it at the time the date commenced. Except there were no cameras, no actors and
no directors. Just a real girl dealing
with a very real situation.
And as she got into bed, our gal decided to give the Mister a
one liner to let him know that she wasn’t about to lose her pride over his
vanishing act. So she texted and hoped it stung him.
And two days later he responded.
And then she deleted him out of her phone and life.
The End.
And that my friends is a true story. Very true.
It took some courage to admit this.
But it happened.
Apparently shit happens.
To me.
Thank goodness I went on vacation to re-assess my life and
cleanse because it was well worth the
cost of a luxury resort and the 4-hour spa treatments.
