Picture me sitting in the living room of my brother’s house moments after walking through their front door after unexpected (or if you know American Airlines ---- e-x-p-e-c-t-e-d) delays that evening stemming from holiday travel. I’d been in his home merely 10 minutes before I found myself sitting across the room from my mother who was also two-deep in Cabernet. They were apparently so eager of my arrival they busted open some merry-merry before the bird's wheels touched down. Not shocking if you knew my jovial bunch this side of the nuthouse.
We barely made it through the salutations and hugging before I was drilled with questions about this new gent I’ve been seeing by mostly my mom and SIL. I answered them willingly as I don’t mind talking about him and actually have nothing to hide. But, at some point the question was asked about what made him different from all the other men I’ve dated/or gone on 1-time dates with, to which I couldn’t answer with just a couple of adjectives that tout his wonderfulness. But, I did give a comparison answer consisting of:
“Well, he’s NOT the kind of guy who wants to meet you out on a first date for coffee at a nice little coffee house and then proceed to hit on the waitress and exchange phone numbers with her right in front of you”.
I witnessed mother’s eyes bugging out of her head and then I believe she leaned forward a belly laughed asking if that was a true story. To which my response was, “Yes, I cannot lie”.
Yes, it’s been a while since that happened and not fabricated for this bloggy-blog syndication (whatevs). A tall, handsome gent asked me out for coffee and left with the waitresses phone number in hand as I walked off never to be turn around and wonder about him again.
And my friends are wondering why I haven’t written a collection of bad date short stories - which would be appropriately be classified in the HUMOR section at your local bookstore or in the PATHETIC section if there is one…
Date: August 2011
Time: 7 PM
Where: Local coffee house
Who: Some tall handsome guy who’s into the Paleo Diet, some weird form of cage fighting/martial arts thing and had a thing for boyish t-shirts and Birkenstocks.
Outcome: I left with my ego busted, but heart never broken.