I have had some bad dates. Not the yelling or fighting type. Not the kind where anyone gets left in a restaurant. No, my bad dates are the ones you don’t want to tell anyone. You know you could win the prize for worst date, but the prize is not worth your dignity. In fact, most times you don’t think about them. You know, maybe if you pretend they never happened they will magically be erased.
However, I do think it’s important that daters stick together and support one another. You know, when someone comes back from a really bad date, you try to cheer them up by telling them how it could have been worse. Or better yet, you tell them another bad date story. That way they don’t feel all alone because after all, misery loves company. Having said that, I will give you my award-winning bad date.
It actually happened pretty quickly, less time than it takes to get your eyebrows waxed—but much more painful. There was a guy who was pretty shy. He was not attractive, but he was always very nice, friendly, and polite to me. I didn’t really know him. I have some strange personality quirks, so I feel it’s only fair to at least have one date with someone before I put them on the “do not date list.” This may be why I have had so many dates that resemble a car wreck in slow motion. You see it coming and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
So he asks if he can bring me lunch at work. This sounds fine to me. I have two offices, one personal and one that everyone is always in. I figure we can have a nice lunch in the personal office, and after all, I only have a thirty-minute lunch break—how bad can that be? He brings lunch in, and we sit down, and I have just put the first bite in my mouth when he says, “There is some thing I need to tell you.”
Okay, I thought, that’s a little weird for a first date, but hey. “Oh, un-huh?”
“Yeah. For the last two years I have been sleeping with my sister.”
I remember not breathing. Just holding the food in my mouth, not chewing, feeling it grow cold. I must have had the strangest look on my face, because he proceeds to say, “Oh, but don’t worry, it actually has made me a better lover.”
At this point, I forget exactly what happened. Up until that point will probably be etched in my memory for the rest of my life, but after that statement, it’s all a little fuzzy. Something about how he would need to leave now, and no need to call me ... ever. And something about how he doesn’t understand why this is a problem. I remember thinking I can’t even eat this food he touched.
Wow, and my mom wonders why I spent so much time single.
