I had a chat with a couple of friends this past week about really bad first dates. As some of you know, MOTNSO (“More Often Than Not Significant Other”) became just “NSO” a while back, so I guess I will be doing some dating again at some point. That is, if I live long enough for someone to ask me out, since at 63 the odds are not good on being invited to something when you mostly stay in your house writing and are most certainly not a “cougar.” Not even a cougar cub.
So, here are a couple of funny stories that both the “dater” and the “datee” would much rather forget. Personally, I would call them “Cringe Dates.”
The first was from a young woman I met at a wedding I attended. She is extremely attractive and had this story about a date her well-meaning brother set up for her.
Her brother had a steady girlfriend at the time and a friend whom he thought would hit it off well with his sister. This is how the date went:
First, the date was late to pick her up. He did call, so there were points for that. When he finally arrived, he did so in his mother’s green mini-van. I don’t know which is worse…that he was late or had his Mom’s green mini-van?
They met up with her brother and his girlfriend and even though it was later than anticipated the four headed out (in the mini-van) to what should have been a fun evening. Now, if I am remembering the story correcly, they had just gotten to the place where they were going to have dinner when the brother’s date tripped, fell and injured her wrist. It swelled up and they decided they needed to get to the ER with her to have it checked out.
That is one place I never like being: the ER…and especially on a Saturday night.
Well, of course there were the usual suspects there: fender-bender folks, drunks who fell down stairs, people who cut themselves chopping broccoli, etc. Needless to say, the girlfriend was not considered a priority patient.
The evening dragged on and since no one had eaten, they started scouting around for some food and came upon a bank of vending machines. Blind Date, it seems, apparently had no money (which is also troubling), but went out to the mini-van and came back with handfuls of coins. My friend also contributed some cash…again, troubling since neither of the men, including her bro, seemed to have brought any money. They proceeded to pick out burgers, hot dogs, etc. since there was a microwave in the break room where the machines were located. They even brought them into the brother’s girlfriend who was still waiting to be seen. Eventually she was examined, told it was a bad sprain and sent off with an ace bandage and an ice pack. It was now in the wee hours and no one was in a particularly good mood.
Speaking of seen, the blind date wasn’t ever seen again. I didn’t ask but I imagine there was no kiss goodnight…especially after ingesting garlicky microwave frankfurters.
The second story is about a friend of mine who is newly divorced and also was set up on a blind date. She is also very attractive…and as straight an arrow as you can possibly imagine, which is why this is so funny.
She wasn’t keen on the idea, but since it was a good friend who arranged the evening she decided she’d go.
They met at a very nice continental restaurant and having been out of the dating scene for awhile, my friend was nervous. When Blind Date asked her if she’d like a cocktail she asked for an Appletini. Now, this is sort of like the Pope asking for a steak on Good Friday. She occasionally has a glass of wine…but an Appletini? That was her first mistake.
After the first course and while waiting for the entree, her date asked if she’d like some wine with her meal. She was still not feeling all that comfortable in this new scenario of a blind date, so she said yes. That was her second…and third…mistake.
Well, after the two glasses of wine and the Appletini, she was very relaxed! and having a good time! Her date opted to have an espresso with dessert and asked her if she’d like one as well. She did. With the Sambuca in it.
He paid the check, which I imagine was pretty hefty after the meal, the wine, etc. and then asked her for a ride home. He lived nearby and had either walked or gotten dropped off there. She was in no state to drive, so he took the wheel and off they went.
I’ll skip the rest of the story…only because my friend has no recollection of the rest of the story. Let it just be said that she woke up the next day in his house, wearing a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt, under a blanket on his couch, with her hair smelling suspiciously like vomit. We’re not sure how that happened.
She won’t be going on any blind dates again soon…well, certainly not if she’s going to have an Appletini, wine and Sambuca within a two hour span.
We know one thing when I am dating again…I can hold my liquor! and I doubt any man’s boxers would fit my ample bottom anyway.