Fourth Rate First Date

     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.