This is an article I thought of today, which may even be good enough for my book someday, but I’m sharing it with you, my public.
About a year ago, I agreed to go on a date with this guy named “Joe”. Actually, his name is Joe and I’m too lazy to come up with an alias to protect his innocence. But I consider the brevity of the date to be enough to indict him for a serious misdemeanor if not a felony.
I had been in a dry spell for months, and my mom had been begging me to put myself “out there” more because she worries about my single-ness. (As she reads this, she will think that this is some ploy to blame the date on her. It's not. [It totally is]) Anyway, Joe asks me out for a dinner, nothing more. I agree, even though Joe was overweight and unattractive. I tend to believe it was an attempt to prove to myself that I wasn’t shallow. I know now that I am shallow. Like Adel Iowa’s kiddie pool. (Shout out to anyone who gets that reference!)
Anyway, UglyJoe picks me up from my apartment building and we start the drive to Olde Main for dinner.
6:01 PM-- I immediately tell him that I have a prior engagement for 8 PM that I cannot miss. He droops his face in some sort of pity-me sulk and tells me about his plan for a movie date. I politely smile and say perhaps another time.
6:01 and 30 seconds PM—We start listening to the radio. The song “Hey (I Love You)” comes on. He sings every word. Off key. Normally, I would find this endearing, but he was staring at me the whole time. I kept staring straight ahead, frightened of whatever sort of signal that eye contact might give off.
6:05 PM—We arrive at the restaurant. He opens all the door for me, trying to be a gentleman. This irks me, as I have plenty of testosterone and arm strength to do these things myself. He also had the look of upmost pride in remembering to “do the little things” on a date. Hint: it’s not 1950, and I have a penis. These things don’t need to happen.
6:20 PM—I have been able to use witty banter to entertain the both of us thus far on the date. We have just ordered. (I got a salad, which is a first date mistake, but I wasn’t hungry. He ordered a steak with a side of gravy. You decide who should be at fault here)
6:30 PM—I realize with a jolt that I have run out of wit, and now must rely on small talk. Really small. UglyJoe wasn’t much of a conversationalist and was obviously not very smart. I learn that his profession is Hirta Public Transport bus driver. He was seeking no further education. So we talked about the old and mentally retarded clients he shuffled across various parts of Ames.
6:45 PM—Our food arrives. I feel the relief of no conversation. I secure this relief by stuffing my mouth with salad every chance I get. Luckily, the salad is huge. This does remain difficult though, because I am getting nauseated by his... interesting food choice.
7:00 PM—I can stomach no more lettuce, nor any more of UglyJoe. He had just finished telling me about his uncle living in Italy. I nod politely and quickly ask a waitress (not even ours) for the check. UglyJoe then asks me to join him on a trip to visit his uncle with the rest of his family. I sharply inhale my breath and weigh the options in my head: I could fake this relationship with UglyJoe and score a trip to Italy. But this would require months of repressed revulsion, and he would expect the relationship to escalate quickly. How did I deduce this? He sang ‘I love you’ and asked me to go to Italy with him on the first date. That’s how. I decided to go the safe route (he was my ride home) and give him a “maybe!”
7:10 PM—He’s opening the car door for me.
7:12 PM—He decides to take the “long way” home which meant driving in a completely opposite direction for no apparent reason besides loving the date and my obvious misery.
7:14 PM—We pull into the Hirta Public Transportation bus lot and he proceeds to drive by each bus and describe which ones were his favorites and why. Seriously.
7:30 PM—We finally leave the parking lot and begin the winding trail back to campustown where my bed was waiting for me and the deadbolt on the door was soon to be in use.
7:43 PM—I remember this time so vividly because I still shudder when I see it on the clock. He pulls over and begs for a kiss. I see flecks of meat still on the side of his face. I see that he’s been waiting for this moment all night. I see he HAS A RAGING BONER. I quickly close my eyes, clench my teeth (to prevent any tongue action), peck his lips, thinking frantically of anyone else that this could be. Then I stare out the windshield for the rest of the ride. He comments something along the lines of, “Now I REALLY wish you didn’t have that 8 PM meeting…” in this voice that made it sound like that was the best kiss of his life (it might have been). I was mortified.
7:50 PM—I half-run back into my apartment and tell my roommate Jeffrey about the worst night of my life. He is unsympathetic.
The next day, Joe asks me out for another date, and I let him down easy. Or at least I thought it was easy. But he got really offended, called me a bitch (again, doesn’t really have any affect since I’m a dude) and said that he “regretted buying me dinner” the night before. Well, since he was throwing the fit, I reminded him that he REALLY wanted to buy it, even after I offered to pay for my $5 salad on the $22 tab, and that he should be so lucky as to pay $5 for a kiss from anyone as awesome as me. He didn’t take that well either.