Last night was almost the date-to-make-me-throw-it-all-in. A good sleep later and I can laugh about it, and now I plan to keep laughing about it all weekend. Which may seem a bit odd to anyone in my presence when I suddenly let out a maniacal chuckle for no apparent reason, but whatever.
We’ll call him Chucky. Actually, there’s another word starting with ‘C’ I’d rather call him, but I rated this blog PG, so I won’t.
First of all, there is no way in hell this guy is under 60 (age listed as 45) and that’s being generous. And he’s wearing an Ed Hardy t-shirt. Now, I try not to have too many prejudices, but as soon as I see an Ed Hardy t-shirt, I think “wanker”. When I see an Ed Hardy t-shirt on a 60-years+ potential date, I think “run”.
Oh why, oh why, oh why did I not obey that little inner voice of mine? Why did I do the polite thing and sit down? Running – even the uncoordinated jiggly-wobbly run that I do – would have been the far more dignified course of action.
We went through some vague pleasantries, though everything about this guy was repulsing me to the point my body was having actual physical responses to him. But we ordered a drink, so I really had to soldier on and I owed it to him to give him a chance until we at least finished a glass of wine.
“So when was your last relationship?” he asked. I didn’t particularly want to share too much with some guy I’d known for less than a minute, so I muttered something about it ending about 18 months ago.
“So, just short term things for sex since then? Do you have lots of one night stands?”
“Excuse me?” I asked, more than a little startled.
“So do you have a healthy sex drive?”
“What?” I felt rooted to my chair. And I really didn’t want to be thinking about the word ‘root’ right now while looking at this repulsive gnome.
“I have a very high sex drive and it’s important that my partner is the same. What position do you like best?”
“Are you seriously asking me this when we’ve known each other five minutes?”
“Quite often bigger girls like doggy style best because it actually makes their bottoms look smaller. Do you like doggy style?”
At this I let rip at the guy, which went something like: “You f_____ing foul little toad. You grotesque, repulsive little troll. F____ off back to whatever hole you crawled from you perverted, mini-dicked turd and don’t ever contact me again. And by the way, Ed Hardy on a geriatric looks ridiculous.” This had virtually every other table turning to stare at us. The place was crowded and when I tried to stand up my chair hit the chair of the person behind me and I nearly fell flat on my face in my efforts to get out. I struggled for what seemed like five minutes trying to extricate myself from the table and fled.
I think I heard the word “cocktease” shouted out behind me, but I didn’t look back.