As he walked me back to my car he said, “Do you have anything above fourth grade humor?” I responded that I probably would next year when my oldest is in grade 5.
There is probably nothing worse then being questioned on an intimate level by someone that you don’t want to know any more about. At first it was his outfit that had startled me. It was a warm summer night in Georgia. I was this 32 year old newly single gal in a lacy beige summer dress and some wedge heels. He was a 27 year old in skinny jeans and a striped tank top. He had on a studded belt and had missed several loops. Match.com brought us together. He had told me, (6 times now!) how much he liked older women. Each time he repeated it, I imagined him with an even older woman. So there he was now, (in my mind) sitting with his arm around a 79 year old woman. I wondered if the amount of hairspray he used was bothering her as much as it was bothering me.
He wanted to know all my favorites, movies, bands, songs, vacation spots, but he didn’t want to know why. Pointless. When he asked my favorite color, I decided to test his patience a little. . . Long pauses, hmmmm’s and almost-but oh-no, hmmm, that’s not it. I finally said, “Oh-kay, I know it for sure now, my favorite color is orange. But I have to tell you why! It’s because I can’t decide between red and yellow.” It was clear that I was the only one who thought that was hilarious. I got kinda giggly and that’s a feeling that’s a little hard for me to stop once it starts. He changed the subject by telling me his favorite animal. “Leah-animal” he said and then started with the footsie. My giggling got worse. But it wasn’t to his credit. Bless his heart. I was in utter distress and I wanted to go home.
He kept talking. He was excited about everything. He was super excited about sharing dinner so my cheap single mom tactic of “order a large meal and take home enough to last for left-overs” was foiled. I don’t know what I was expecting after his message online. “Your beautiful.” Some will say I’m too picky. . . some will understand completely. I should have responded, “My beautiful what?” You are = You’re. Of course I overlooked the grammar fail and agreed to let him buy me dinner. Clarification, half a dinner. P.S. He’s still rubbing the table stand and fumbling over my shoes. My legs ran away the second he had started and were tucked up on my seat. I needed him to calm down. I needed to tell him I wasn’t going to sit next to him in the dark movie theater. So, how did I get out of that date? During the next 15 minutes, as he ate all the noodles, I worked these three beauties into the conversation.
1. Hey, guess what? There were these two muffins in the oven and one looked over at the other one and said, “Hey, is it getting hot in here?” The other muffin looked really scared and screamed, “Ahhhhhh a talking muffin!!!!!!”
2. What are the strongest days of the week? Saturday and Sunday. Every other day is a weekday.
3. (This must be said as sincerely as possible for full effect) Did you hear about the carrot who couldn’t stop crying? (Take his hand) His brother had been in an accident and the Doctor came out of the operating room and told him, “Sorry, you’re brother won’t be recovering anytime soon, he’s going to be a vegetable for the rest of his life.”
He walked me to the car with a confused look on his face. I was barefoot. (I knew where my shoes had been, they needed a little time out.) The moral of this story? Dates are worth going on, but keep a lame joke or two in your purse for when a guy plays footsie for 10 min. without you. You deserve better than that.
Go home and be virtuous. I’m over here being virtuous too. You’re not alone.