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Thursday, March 1, 2012

"World's Worst Date"

Miss-Adventures: A Hapless Helpless Hopeless Dater 
What happens when you accept a date with an unknown stranger just because your heart was stomped on by another girl?  You get the worst date in personal history.


World’s Worst Date first e-mailed me while I was still dating The One That Got Ran Away.  She and I hadn’t set any exclusivity rules, so I was still open to dating other people (though reluctantly because of my feelings for her) and hadn’t changed my relationship status on the dating website. 

I read WWD’s e-mail (which was nice and flattering) and I took a look at her profile.  Nothing about her struck a chord with me but she seemed nice enough.  Her profile picture was attractive (dark hair, bright blue eyes has always been a weakness of mine), so I looked at her other photos.  I remember thinking (and laughing about with Nugget), ‘Dear god, I hope she looks like picture number one and NOT pictures number two or three.’  Though these last two photos were terribly unflattering, if not a little discouraging, there’s one thing I learned about dating The One That Got Ran Away (who looked one hundred times nerdier than she actually was), it’s that you can always be pleasantly surprised by someone in person.

Since I was happily dating The One That Got Ran Away during that time, I e-mailed WWD back casually, without any sense of urgency, and we spent a couple of weeks e-mailing in a small talk fashion: What do you do? How do you like your job? Where are you originally from?, etc.  Still, nothing about her really struck my fancy.  She was pleasant enough but just not terribly interesting to me.

Then the rug got pulled out from underneath me and The One That Got Ran Away pulled her “I’m afraid to be a rebound” shit and bolted without warning.  Suddenly, Miss-Adventures was back on the market and totally open to meeting anyone, including a woman with a bland personality and two bad profile pictures.  Less than a week after getting dumped in epic fashion by The One That Got Ran Away, I had a wine bar date with WWD.

WWD and I worked in the same neighborhood so we made a plan to meet on a Friday night after work at my old stand-by wine bar.  The minute I walked in, I saw her … and my first thought was, ‘Oh shit.  She looks like pictures two and three.”  No attraction.  Zero.  Zilch.  Nada.  I mean, she had a seriously dumpy build and was shaped like Sponge Bob Square Pants!  Does that make me shallow?  Yes?  Damn.  Ok, moving on.

We sat down and started to make small talk.  I asked her where in the neighborhood she worked and how far she had to walk to get over to the wine bar.  Turns out, she worked no where near the wine bar and not even in the same neighborhood.  Assuming that the confusion was on my end, I apologized for asking her to come so far out of her way to meet me and she responded, “Yeah, it was kind of far.”  Alright then, way to let the new girl off the hook!  (Incidentally, I went back and checked our e-mails after our date and she did specifically say that she worked in the same neighborhood.  So not only did she not let me off the hook when I apologized, I didn’t even owe her an apology to begin with.  Nice, lady.  Real nice.)

When the waiter came by, I ordered a glass of wine for myself and a baked brie with honey for us to share.  And WWD ordered a club soda.  Really? A club soda at a wine bar?  So I asked her, “Oh you’re not drinking?”  And she said simply, “no.”  No elaboration, no explanation, no nothing.  Just simply, “no.”  Okaaaaay, this is starting to feel awkward.

So WWD began to ask me the usual first date questions.  “where did you grow up”, “what’s your family like”, how many siblings do you have”, “what kind of work do you do”, “how do you like your job”, etc.  And with every question out of her Dating 101 (slash) How to Interrogate Your Date book, I would answer and then ask her, “so what about you?”  To which she would reply, “I don’t want to talk about that.  So tell me about…”  Every. Fucking. Question.  I’m not kidding! 

Her: “So how many siblings do you have?”
Me: “I have two; both younger.  What about you?  Do you have any siblings?”
Her: “Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about that.  Are your parents still together?”
Me: “Yeah, they were high school sweethearts.  What about yours, are your parents still together?”
Her: “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Here’s the part that gets really, um… lovely.  When the baked brie with honey arrived, we were each given our own plate and silverware.  One would naturally assume that the silverware would be used for serving oneself and eating, but no, WWD didn’t even touch her silverware.  She dug right into the brie with her bare hands.  She pulled and tugged at a corner, finally got a piece, ate it, licked her cheesy honey fingers and put her hands right back in the cheese for more.  Eww, eww, eww!  *Shudder!*  Sufficed to say, my appetite made an abrupt exit.  Miss-Adventures’ hunger has left the building!  What kind of Neanderthal does that?!  On a first date, no less! 

So I’m sitting there with my glass of wine, getting grilled about my family, my job, my divorce, my dating situation while I have to watch this animal suck down a club soda (inexplicably in a wine bar!) while putting her saliva coated fingers into the cheese dish we were supposed to be sharing.  I’m pretty sure that Dante’s inferno was paradise compared to this.  Whatever I did to deserve this date from hell, I’m sorry and I promise that I’ll never do it again.

As the date wore on and the interrogation continued, WWD began to ask me about my siblings again.  She wondered why I seemed to only talk about my sister and not my brother and I explained that we’re not terribly close and he lives in another state.  So she asked, “Why aren’t you two very close?”  And I said, “I don’t want to talk about that”, gave her a wink and suggested that we have the waiter bring the bill.

WWD holds, without question, my all-time record for shortest dates.  I was in and out of there in forty-five minutes.  Unfortunately for me, it felt like forty-five years.

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