Don’t Go Out with Him

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Today’s Lesson:


Do not under value yourself. You are worth everything you are asking for and more. Do not settle.


Having said that let me explain why I lowered my standard and reverted back to the girl with “little to no self-esteem.” I have many excuses; let me run through them.


1. I am not in therapy.
2. I have no relationship with my father, by his choice.
3. I have few to no positive, supportive, non-abusive male relationships.
4. I have developed the talent of discarding people/ friends to a science.
5. I am over thirty-five, single, with a cat, no social life and lonely, not alone.


Not that all of these amount to much, a therapist may disagree, if so call me. I am craving intimacy. No, not the rub, or the kiss, or the hug, but emotional intimacy. The tie that binds and soothes us all. I started opening myself up to friendships, no longer blocking people’s attempts to get to know me on deeper levels. Letting my guard down. Then WHAM! This slap in the face.


It all started a few months ago, when my friend and co-worker (lethal combination, I don’t recommend, unless you’re on the same level …) recommended that I meet her cousin, “Oh, he’s so nice, you’d love him, he’d love you, he’s an engineer and his last relationship was six months but she left him and took all of his money.


Now, I am not the money chaser, but I trusted that she knew me well enough to match me with someone and that she understood enough about me to know what I wanted in a mate: a strong relationship with a loving higher power (God), intelligence (emotional and mental), stability (financial and emotional), and attractiveness and a sense of fun.


After saying it for six months I agreed to meet him, out of I don’t know, fear that he was the one, or that maybe my dry spell would end, mind you that dry spell has been almost four years.


I agreed to go on a date, but after a week of talking, I discover that he is juvenile, uneducated, and ignorant, and he lives with his mother despite almost a twenty-year age difference from me, but out of devotion to a friend and her insistence the he was a “gentleman” and would treat me like a “real woman”.


I saw his picture in a text, it was a little dark and he was too close to the camera, but maybe he didn’t really look like a gorilla? Maybe I’m being too judgmental, besides Shrek was really a nice guy under all of the green wasn’t he? Maybe he wasn’t the type of engineer who builds rockets, but a maintenance engineer who changes air conditioner filters. Surely, his heart of gold would overcome those small deficiencies. Yes, he did not graduate from high school but at least I didn’t have to tell my mom that part because he’s handsome, over six feet tall, with a large savings.


Yeah, I was wrong.


I drove myself to dinner that night, it was the first date, my friend didn’t want to double date, and I was going to be safe. I call him at ten minutes ‘til, because surely he stopped to get me flowers or candy (Old Fashioned). Not only was he running late, but didn’t know where the restaurant was and needed me to give him directions in a city I have lived in for 10 months and he’s lived here for well over forty-five years. I guess he doesn’t shop at the mall. Where did he shop/ Does he shop? Oh God.


I arrive on time, I park far from the entrance, and pop into the Target for a mint, maybe I will get a kiss, after four years I had it coming. I (not him) had called ahead to the restaurant, so I waited maybe fifteen minutes for the table. My “date” is still not there and called me a third time for directions (a bad sign for an engineer).


So I am walked to my table, in this lovely romantically lit restaurant, the waiters are in suits. I look fabulous in my new dress, carefully covering my decolletage, to be revealed later, depending on the date’s rhythm, and our attraction. After fiddling nervously with my phone and ordering my drink, and have my third overly tangy sip, a bus boy walks up to me as if he’s going to sit at my table. Um, excuse me! I say to myself, then I recognize this man, person, thing from the front door, Oh God its my date!?


I am desperately trying to hold my lunch down, as I tilt my head to the side, biting my lip … John is that you? … “yes” he smiles to revealed thirty-one lovely white teeth and one slightly tinged with yellow. I missed that in the texted picture. He appears much older and haggard than I had imagined, he was dressed, well he was dress to hide a body that reminded me so much of Gollum/ Smiegal that I was terrified that somehow, by error or chance, I had been sent on a date with … OMG a real-life troll.


Why me? I’m going to kill my so-called friend, she must think so little of me to send me out with this. [I know he’s a person, really, I do, I did my best to be diplomatic, kind, attentive, I didn’t think he noticed my perma frown] Beauty is certainly in the eye of the beholder, I am no Heidi or Naomi, but he has no chin, no hair, his outfit matches his skin, his finger are the girth of straws, except the one with what looks like a swollen wart. He has no chin, why me.


This is truly and argument against environmental pollution, I mean why else would this lack-of-symmetry be sitting at my table. I’m no prude but breeding is everything and attraction is the being of beautiful relationships. I suffered through what seemed like an eternity, only with the help of two glasses of Riesling, a delicious salmon meal; unfortunately, I couldn’t hold my glass up long enough to cover up his face.


Why did he have to talk so much? I can’t keep looking down at my plate, and then … my plate was empty. The waiter was looking at me with such pity, and I couldn’t remember how to make myself invisible. Harry Potter is sooo lucky.


Mercifully time passed, the check came, and I jumped up. I guess I should have let him open the door but the nice man coming in opened it first. Thank goodness it was nighttime, I wouldn’t, maybe, have nightmares tonight about hobbits and evil leprechauns.


I did read in Cosmo that if there was no chemistry on a first date, be gracious, say thank you, and bounce. Which I did. I declined his offer to walk me to my car, gently, I also declined the lean in for the hug, I mean what if he smelled like he looked, my head might have exploded. I’m going to kill my friend. I was certainly not going to let him walk me to my car, what if he morphed into some sort or bone marrow eating alien, and I was never seen again.


Maybe I was a little tipsy at this point, but it kept me from being a total jerk, and walking out in the middle, or turning around and going home when he was twenty minutes late. It turned out to be a Blockbuster night, at 9:30 p.m. I needed to wind down, and laugh to keep from crying. Maybe I had it coming. Next time I won’t settle for less. I deserve the best … and remember, don’t go out with him, especially if your friend wants to set you up on a blind date and his text picture reminds you of a 1970 blaxplotation film. It’s not worth it and don’t drink and drive or just don’t drink.

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