Why? Because it’s too funny not to tell and enough time has passed that I can laugh about it without being too embarrassed. Don’t worry… precautions were taken to protect the feelings of the gentleman who will be utterly shamed and embarrassed in the story I’m about to tell. He’s a nice guy, and I really don’t want him to see this.
So I met this fella online via a very sketchy site introduced to me by a close family member who also had no business on the site. If I told you who the family member was, I’d be dead by morning. (Mama, NO!)
Back to the guy… He was super tall, handsome, and gentle-natured, but dumb as rocks. Normally, I find some sort of intelligence in a person and honor that, but this guy wasn’t working with much at all. To put it simply, he was a muscle head. But after chatting, texting, talking, and inappropriately flirting for months, I decided to meet him anyway.
Anyone who’s ever done online dating will tell you that there is a MAJOR difference between what you see and hear via electronic devices and what you see and hear in person. Well… I could say I was pretty lucky. Mr. Man was just as kind in person as he was on the phone. Unfortunately, he was twice as dense. I remember asking him a few questions and getting blank looks instead of answers. Every few minutes he’d giggle and say “Yeah, girl…” I’d just giggle back.
We ordered our lunch and ate between a few more failed attempts at intelligent conversation. He enjoyed a dish that was covered with tons of melted cheese, onions, and peppers. (Bad date food if you ask me…) I’m sure I ordered some kind of salad pretending to be health-conscious. He paid the bill, and we left… hand in hand.
On our way out of the restaurant, my date stopped to admire our reflection in the glass.
“Don’t we look good together?”
I’m not sure what he saw, but my head reached a little over the top of his belly button and I thought “He’s got to be kidding.” My second thought was that our heights were inversely proportional to our intelligence quotients…. and I just can’t be with a dumb man. (Let me qualify… there are many different ways to be intelligent, all of which are praiseworthy. Everybody has something; but if you have little to nothing, I can’t work with you.) So I could see us going no where fast, yet I remained agreeable and continued to smile. There really was no reason to be ugly…
Our next stop was a movie… something action-oriented, loud, and exciting. The title? I don’t remember. What I do remember, however, was his giant self squirming in the minuscule seat. We tried the cuddling thing… didn’t work. I would lay my head on his shoulder, rest it a few seconds, and then he’d push me up. Not long after, I started hearing tummy gurgles so loud that they made the movie’s surround sound seem a mile away. I wondered why my stomach was so active. Even if I didn’t like him all that much, how embarrassing would that be for me? Then it dawned on me… squirming and gurgling… It wasn’t me! It was him! (You know how it is when you’re sitting close to someone, and you can’t really tell whose stomach it is…) Lucky me…
Right? I mean I am lucky that it’s not MY stomach gurgling. It’s his… Wait a minute. This could turn into something very bad at any moment. Ain’t it funny how luck turns on you?
So the movie ends, and we hop in his super clean car. He heads for the highway. I inquire as to where we’re going next. He says “Just relax, and enjoy the ride.”
He types into his TomTom and heads for 95 north which happened to be seriously backed up. My sensibilities kick in (kinda late, right?) and I insist to know where he’s taking me and why, all of a sudden, he’s acting so strange. I pushed until he answered.
“I need to use the restroom. All that cheese got to me…”
“Are you lactose intolerant?”
“Heh heh… yeah, girl.”
Now I can’t type what I really said to him at that moment… but here’s the censored and listed version.
*Bleep*, are you serious? Why would you order something with all that cheese if you know your body can’t digest it? And if it looked so good and you had to have it, why would you have it on a date? Here’s a McDonald’s you can go there. Why’d you pass the McDonald’s? The Hardee’s? Target’s right around the corner. Where the heck are you going? Don’t you see this traffic!
He wasn’t hearing it. We crept at a mere 25 miles per hour for about 20 minutes passing several exits with blue signs showing places with available RESTROOMS. Dude was stubborn, and I was BEYOND ticked!
All I could do was plan my route of escape just in case noxious gas leaked from my date. Because is this really an IF situation? No… said person has gas, so it’s not about IF he lets it out, but WHEN! The only results from a planned escape would land me stranded outside his car or half-dead inside. I started praying…
A few miles later, he takes an exit off the highway and heads to a hotel. He runs inside and tells me to wait outside. So I’m waiting… and thinking. Thinking… and waiting.
Is this some kind of game? Did he already have a room booked here? He better not ask me to come in if he does. Is he so desperate to get me inside to pull some crap like this? And since when do you have to use a pristine bathroom to do your dirty business? Why am I here? Maybe I can call a taxi back to my car…
Just as I go into another round of the same questions, my text notification sounds…
“So….you wanna get a room while we’re here? ;-)”
You know what? I can’t tell even anymore of this story… let’s just say he and I haven’t seen each other since.
I will say this… Despite the utter embarrassment and shame I felt up to that point, the rest of the date wasn’t a total waste. I just had to redirect his “romantic inquiry” *gags* to a sensible, yet riveting game of UNO at a local park. We did have fun with that.
Moral of the story? Heck if I know… if you’re creative, daring, and punny enough, leave one in the comment box below.
How about this? Don’t lead a brotha on and think ANYTHING will stop him from trying to get the cookies… no matter how sh*tty the situation.
That’s enough foolishness for tonight… I’m looking forward to hearing back from my readers.