First dates are
exciting. The unknown can be alluring. It gives you the opportunity to learn
about someone and see where it leads. What happens when the first date is the
worst date?
A few months ago,
I ventured out on a first date with a guy that I’d met during one of my “girl’s
night outs” with Liza. We exchanged numbers and talked on the phone for two
weeks. He seemed nice and we made plans for the Saturday of the next week.
The day of our
date started well. We went to a local pizzeria known for its slices. When we
arrived, I waited in the car, assuming he was coming around to open my door. I
assumed wrong. He got out and headed for the restaurant. When I realized he
wasn’t going to open my door, I opened it myself. Strike one, I thought to
myself. Once inside the restaurant the food and conversation were good… at
first.
“Wow. You sure
can put it away,” He said.
“What?” I asked
out of surprise. Every man knows better than to mention a woman’s appetite,
whether it’s intended as a compliment or not.
“You just eat a
lot to be so small. It’s cool.”
“I eat like a
person. Not a sparrow,” I quipped.
My blood became
lava. Sensing this he finished his pizza and requested the bill. Strike two.
At that point, I
was ready to go to the comedy club we were heading to. As we headed out to the
parking lot, I opened my door and got in the car. He’d already proven he wasn’t
going to. On the way to the comedy club, he regaled me stories of his past ex-
girlfriends. It became apparent why he’d never been married and was currently
single.
Once at the
comedy club, we had a great time, mostly because he wasn’t talking. The
comedians were hilarious and it was a good crowd. We’d chosen an early evening
show because I had to be to church early in the morning.
As we headed back into
town, he started eyeing the various clubs and bars on the street. I knew what
was coming.
“Do you want to
do something else or…?”
“No,” I said. “I
told you. I have church tomorrow.”
“Well, I want to
do something else.”
“You’re free to
do that, after you take me home.”
Strike three. I
was fit to be tied.
When we got to my
house, I politely thanked him for dinner. I didn’t want to be as rude as he
was.
“I’d walk you to
your door, but I know you can handle it,” he said.
I was floored. His unbridled rudeness had now reached new
heights. Strike three, part two. No possible hope in the ballpark.
“You’re right. I can
handle most anything,” I stated calmly.
I got out of the
car as he was talking and heading to my door. He called and texted me for three
straight days, all of which I ignored. His rudeness didn’t deserve a response.
