I know many who get extremely nervous on first dates; I don’t tend to be one of them. I’ve usually chatted, emailed and texted with most men before I commit to anything, as to gauge our compatibility. So, I’ve been pretty lucky thus far one month back into the dating pool. For some reason, I didn’t do this with usual screening process with Mr. Boston.
Caucasian with darker features and a killer smile, his profile looked promising also although white guys aren’t my forte. They’re kind of like foreigners to me. I can’t quite read them and that should have been a clue from the get-go.
We met in Culver City and I was thrilled to wear my tallest heels. As it turns out, he’s 5’9, not 6’0″. Ok, not bad. But then he spoke.
He is drunk as a skunk. And what’s that I hear?–a Boston accent? Oh crap.
As soon as he recognized me, he immediately embraced me. The kind of hug that you rubs the other person’s back in a comforting, haven’t-seen-you-in-years and miss you kind of way. Ewwwww. He was just trying to feel me up. This is going to be the longest drink date EVER.
We sit at the bar during happy hour. Evidently he got there a good 30 minutes before to take advantage of the specials. I’m thinking alcoholic. It’s only Monday.
I reply to Mr. Mystery Man when Mr. Boston heads to the restroom for the 2nd time since I’ve gotten there and give him an update to his text that reads, “White guys are people too. Have fun.”
“I’m leaving in 10 minutes. Screw this.”
As I’m downing my white sangria, he touches my hair. Who does that? It’s not the sweeping your strays from your face to get a better look at you or kiss you move, it’s the ‘ohhhh, you’re hair is so pretty I want to keep it as trophy’ move. Yikes! I’m figuring out a way to leave gracefully when Mr. Boston gets a text from a friend who needs to be picked up from a LAX. There is a higher power!
“Sorry, I have to go. But can I get a kiss?” he asks.
“Ah…nooooo. Sorry.” I say sweetly with a smile.
“Positive.” My smile is gone.
“Can I at least get another hug?” And that’s when the groping fest in this family restaurant/bar area starts. I end it quickly and bee-line for the door. “Byyyyyye.”
“One man down, a million other men on internet dating to go,” says Mystery Man. I couldn’t agree more.