I rushed out the door of the studio and bolted to the elevator lobby. While I waited for the elevator I changed my flip flops to heals, took my hair out of the clip and applied lip gloss. There was no time to look in a mirror as I was already 2 minutes late. Always trying to plan my week down to the last minute, I thought scheduling a date on a night I volunteered would work out perfectly. I didn’t schedule the 10 minute conversation about my dating life of all things and now I was running behind. I promised to pick up the conversation where we left off next week and said goodnight.
Luckily the meeting place was only 1 block away and I had the walk signal. Arrival time: 5 minutes late. Pretty normal by DC standards.
I apologized as soon as I introduced myself to my date. He had ordered a glass of wine already and was engrossed in his iPhone when I walked up.
There's a point in every date when we think to ourselves whether or not this is going to work. Sometimes it occurs early on, sometimes it’s towards the middle but more often than not before the date has wrapped up we know whether or not it’s going to work. That moment came not once but repeatedly through the 65 minutes I spent with this man. The first instance came after he told
me that I didn't look like any of the pictures on my profile. The rest of the evening served as a series of evidence backing up my original hypothesis.
This is my date and why it's not going to work out….
If I walk up and introduce myself and you're sitting down and don't stand up, it's not going to work out. I'm old school, standing when introducing yourself is common courtesy.
If you continue to text after I have sat down, looked through the menu and placed my drink order, it's not going to work out. I can see what you're doing on your phone from where I'm sitting and to continue the conversation with the person who isn't even there is a little displeasing.
If after we start our conversation, you pick up your phone again and write another text, it's not going to work out. I don't care if you're text messaging Obama about the debate right now please put your phone away. Mine is in my purse even though I would rather have it on my lap so I can monitor the time.
If you keep checking me out from the waste down while I'm in the middle of telling you about my siblings and where I grew up, it's not going to work out. You're 45 shouldn't you have 'covert checking out' mastered by now?
If the only topic of conversation you care to discuss in detail is your ex-wife, your ex-wife or your ex-wife, it's not going to work out. I understand that it’s a sensitive issue and you’re clearly still upset about it but telling me isn't going to change the past and I'm certainly not playing the role
of the free psychologist this evening. My name isn’t Lucy and I’m not looking for nickels.
If I find myself daydreaming about the inside of my refrigerator and assessing possible dinner combination options while wondering if I’ve consumed too much mayonnaise in one day already, while you're telling me another story about your ex-wife, it's so not going to work out.
If I contemplate discrete ways of asking you how you got to the restaurant so I can determine whether or not I may be stuck on the metro with you after this encounter, it's seriously not going to work.
If you felt compelled to tell me about your lucrative career, your client that made you millions, your house in the fancy part of town, the fact that your kids go to a super fancy private school and that you go on three vacations a year and then turn around and want change for your portion of the bill, it most certainly will not work out!
In my opinion, algebra should not be a part of any first date; period. If you can't offer up the $8 for my glass of wine, by all means, then let me treat you. I refuse to waste any time doing math in order to calculate how much you owe and how much I owe, and I'm certainly not waiting for the bartender to break both of our 20 dollar bills, this needs to wrap up…..stat.
I quietly put my wallet in my purse, placed my napkin on the table and stood up. He was in the middle of a story; I don’t remember what the subject matter was because I was no longer listening. My mind was now out the door, down the street and wondering how long it was until the next train. He looked at me as if to say, “Oh, we are leaving?” and I returned the look as I put my purse over my arm and started walking towards the exit with, “Why yes, we are leaving, we must go at once!” And with that I walked towards the door and didn’t look back.
I found myself standing on the corner next to a DC police woman who witnessed our awkward goodbye. I went for the handshake; he went for the hug, realizing the mistake I said aloud, “Oh, ok we can hug.” The police woman looked at me as my head perched over his shoulder and I did what came naturally; I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth. She smiled because she understood. I’m sure she’s seen it before.
As I crossed the street I somehow found myself thinking of a woman I see at the gym on lunch. I call her Miss Confidence, (that is, I call her that to myself, not to her face). I gave her that nickname because whenever I see her at the gym she is naked. I have never seen the woman clothed or actually using any gym equipment. Every time I see her it’s the same thing:
She’s standing in front of the mirror…..nude…….blow drying………….her body. Not her hair or anything north of her neck. Rather, all of the parts that are south of the waist. She does this in front of everyone. She bends over and does this…..in front of everyone. The first time I saw it I was amazed. I’ve seen naked women at the gym who love being naked. But I’ve never seen someone who is so confident and who uses a blow dryer with such moxy. I thought of her and imagined what she would have done in this situation. I know she would’ve had a remark that would’ve been the perfect combination of sarcasm, humor and b*tchiness in order to put this man turd in his place.
If I ever run into her fully clothed and dry I will certainly make friends with her and get her opinion.
