We’ve all heard a ‘first date’ horror story; one where the evening doesn’t just not go as planned, but goes terribly wrong. Maybe these stories are filled with humor, maybe they are filled with humiliation, and maybe sometimes they have a happy ending. I have very few stories like this, until now. Settle in readers, because I have a ‘first date’ horror story for you.
Well, if you read my last post (and if you haven’t, go back and read it now… I’ll wait), you’ll know that I had a date last night with a man who was meant to help transition me back into dating, but who I will now fondly refer to as ‘Cat Man’ (CM). Yesterday, I was going to call him TG (short for transition guy), but I’m not sure that he’s going to continue in this role (sadly).
Prior to our date last evening, CM and I played a rousing game of ‘awkward texting’. You’ve probably done this with someone: you don’t know each other, you’re trying to feel things out, making sure that autocorrect doesn’t make you look like an illiterate ass, and trying to gauge how long you should wait in between texts. It’s weird and uncomfortable, and no one likes it. Yours truly has a real problem not saying bizarre things to fill in the awkward silences and gaps in conversation (a problem which I have to fight off with all of my might). After successfully making it through hours of inane conversation, we decided that he would come to my house and that we would go out from there.
I spent two, nervous hours getting ready before hand, and patiently waited for him to let me know that he was on his way. For starters, he was late. Let’s talk about bad manners, folks. If you’ve got a date with a hottie, at very least make sure to show up on time (she’s going to count this against you, I promise). When homeboy finally got to my house, and after wandering around outside looking for my house, he waltzed in with a huge attitude. I really tried to keep in mind that he’s fairly younger than I am, and has experienced a great deal of success for someone his age; this is a recipe for major arrogance. No matter, I instead focused on the fact that he’s good looking. I offered him a glass of scotch, he responded by telling me, “That’s an old man drink,” and then asked what sort of beer I had (I have none). We talked about work, and about the mutual friends we share there. He asked about “P”, and kept referring to him as “buddy,” which was mildly irritating. Again, I just tried to focus on his looks (men do this all of the time, so I don’t want to hear that this is wrong in anyway for me to do). He told me about how he’s not looking for a relationship, but ‘plays the game’ and basically leads women to believe that this is what he’s interested in. He also shared that he had no plans of getting married until he was 40, and like George Clooney, would marry someone at least 10 years younger, and hot.
We sat and talked for about a half an hour, and as I had just begun to ask him what he would like to do, my daughter’s cat came strolling through the living room. He shot up in his seat, and looked as though he had seen a ghost. Apparently, he is terribly allergic to cats. Being the woman I am, and looking to salvage some part of this evening, I offered him allergy medicine (which he turned down), and then suggested that we go upstairs (as the cats are not generally in my bedroom). Folks, he practically tripped over himself to get out the door of my house. He looked panicked, cornered, and as though I had just killed a puppy in front of him. I didn’t even reach the door to say goodbye before he was already outside on my sidewalk. “Let’s do this again, but next time at my house! There are no cats there! I know my role!”
…. he lives an hour away. It seems as though CM will not be the TG I had envisioned.