Let Me Show You My Magnet Collection

A Story by denverdarling

don't normally do blind dates, did one because he was a referral, literally, from a man who seemed to have his poop in a group, so i figured why not? perhaps i also felt a little obligatory pang as well, since this man who barely knew me felt i was interesting enough to set me up with one of his very best friends.
(note to self: do not ever, ever agree to this without asking for references. why should a blind date be any different than a job interview? it shouldn't).

go to man's house thursday evening, had put some effort into my appearance, although i am really wishing i could be at home watching grey's in my fuzzy slippers and undies instead. i shake off this feeling and gear up for a night of good conversation, if nothing else.

walk into house and immediately notice sweaty sour man smell. kiss, the band, playing loudly on stereo. not that i'm opposed to kiss but it, combined with the unpleasant odor, doesn't exactly exude romance or effort.

i look around and discover that, much like a cave with ancient hieroglyphics painted on the walls, i am in the midst of a bachelor pad of all bachelor pads, and this is a grown man, not even in his late twenties. i wonder if he owns a vaccum. enter kitchen. he proudly shows me his magnet collection on his fridge which displys his travels from over the years. stench is getting to me. i ask him for a glass of scotch on the rocks and try to stifle my tone of desperation for some burning alcohol that might kill the aroma still accosting my olfactory senses. a quick glance around offers me a prime view of dirty dishes caked with crusty pasta noodles and congealed alfredo sauce, muddy guacamole and chips and some other delicacies that i just tell myself are probably supposed to have fuzzy white hairs on them. maybe they were imported.

i wait on his couch that had seen far better days and may not have originally been the color gray, while he quickly changes and proceeds to talk about himself, without really taking a breath, for the next half an hour while i sit silently nursing my scotch and nodding occasionally. i am certain he will ask me something about myself very soon.
(note: said man has mba from prestigious institution and a well-paying job. said man can afford couch that doesn't look like wet dogs have been cavorting on it for years on end. said girl has dated men with far humbler careers who had houses that didn't smell like locker rooms or have couches with stains the size of elephants on their furniture. these same men understood the simple pleasure of clean dishes as well. furthermore, silent is not how i roll, which should tell you something).
i am made privy to how close this man is with his family, so close that every and all decision in his life, from his underwear to his employment, had all been made with them in mind. when i ask, nonchalantly, if he ever feels the need to make a decision, just for s***s and giggles, based solely upon what he wanted to do, keeping it well within the borders of selfishness, when he looks at me like i am a cyclops for posing this question. like, i have officially sprouted a huge, single eye in the middle of my forehead. still no questions are directed at me or asked of my background. we are being consistent by now in letting all conversation revolve around him. i'm sure he'll ask me about myself over dinner.

i don't think he notices how quickly i drink my scotch.

by now, we are ready to head down the street to dinner, the establishment will remain unnamed to protect his identity, but it is one of my favorite sushi restaurants. we encounter a rather large section of the sidewalk encased in layers of ice and as i look down at my feet clad in high-heeled black booties, i go to grab onto his large and manly arm only to notice he is already a few feet in front of me, heading into the restaurant. that's cool, sir, i've got it under control.

enter restaurant. get great table by window. try to take menu to give suggestions of what i might enjoy. man proceeds to monopolize menu, much like conversation. being that i'm not a picky eater and like most of what this restaurant serves up, i continue to bite my tongue.
(note: by now, tongue is swelling to size of baby beluga whale from continuous biting).

man orders for us and i look in wonderment, as i have never had someone do that and not ask my thoughts whatsoever. man suddenly has club in his hand, is speaking in guttural tones and is wearing animal skins and necklace made of sabretooth tiger teeth around his neck. okay, so i imagined that, but you get the point............

man continues talking and tells me of wealthy upbringing, exotic trips with family, several stints as ski bum while he figured his life out. piqued by curiosity, i ask man what sort of trials or tribulations he had endured that he felt had shaped him. certain this would pull from him some sort of enlightening response, as i assumed we had all suffered loss or things that made us who we are, and it usually makes us more interesting for it, i listen intently. man replies that in high school he was very rebellious and smoked a lot of pot. it really put strain on his family.......

i sit patiently, blinking, waiting for him to continue. man does not continue. this was man's trial. this was man's tribulation.

food arrives, man on a roll here, but suddenly, like a meteor shooting across the vast sky, it happens: man asks me what i like to do. i reply with several things, one of them being writing. i tell him i enjoy putting pen-to-paper, that it's a creative outlet for me. whether or not i'm good at it isn't really a concern. man laughs and tells me he would rather slit his wrists than write for fun. man disses national geographic. by now, i am still biting tongue and also restraining knee from kicking man under table. hard.

super. man just keeps getting better and better. i wonder if he notices how quickly i just drank my beer.

(note: jump forward to actual eating being done. most enjoyable part of date. man has mouth full of fish so much that speaking is difficult. there is a god. food cleared).

man takes my fresh beer from in front of me. my beer. man drinks it. it is rather important to know that this was right after man tells me that alcoholism runs in his family starting with his grandfather. man did not ask if he could consume my beer.

still no talking from me. despite me being a very talkative person, this might be the longest i have ever kept my mouth shut in my entire life.

man tells me it is normal for men to frequent strip clubs every so often. he feels the men that don't are the weird ones and woman should be happy that men get this out of their systems with guy friends now and then. it keeps them from cheating. man then looks at me and tells me that i would be a GREAT STRIPPER. he feels it is very complimentary when he tells me that my small, dark looks are exotic and the WASP guys would love me. i could say i was jewish or spanish. i tell him, but i'm not jewish, or spanish, and i don't think at this juncture of my life stripping is something i would want to do. man laughs. man is getting drunker by the minute. man tells me it's never too late...........
(note, by now i am laughing manically as well and man is certain, i can tell, that i am laughing at his witty retorts and colorful stories. in fact, i am laughing at him, not with him. towards end of night, laughs border on crying at how the world is populated by such buffoons).

explain to man that i'm a divorcee, as at this point i'm thinking of anything to make him dislike me and want to leave the restaurant. man eyes me like the creme brulee sitting in front of us and explains that divorcees are hot. H-O-T, hot. i tell them that the cost and emotional strain of my divorce didn't exactly have me feeling hot, but i appreciate his optimism.

i am certain by now that this is a joke done in very bad taste by some of my girlfriends. i notice with more alertness the potted plants around me and just know if i peeled back the leaves, i would find a hidden camera..........someone was going to jump out at any second and explain this had all been a big prank.
(note: no cameras found. no friend jumps out from behind the sushi bar).

check arrives. i ask if we can please go dutch. i prefer that on a first (AND LAST) date. man guffaws at me, (do you know what a guffaw is?) and says that's crazy and absolutely not. i calmly explain it's something i prefer, as i work hard and i like being able to have some equality on the first date. man ignores me completely while flirting with waitress and orders a shot. for himself.

(note: conversations have been flowing from his large obnoxious mouth about how if a bum would just try harder, they could make it off the streets. they are just weak and he can't stand weakness. he is of the philosophy that you just have to do-it and stop complaining. life isn't that hard according to him. considering he never lost so much as a cherished pet growing up, i don't find this opinion of his to be very surprising. this was inbetween him telling me about the trips to cairo and amsterdam his family took him on when they weren't yachting around the san juan islands).

my normally strong desire to play devil's advocate is even lying dormant by now. he is taking all the fun out of this. even the devil wants nothing to do with this huge blond oaf.

man pays for dinner, i concede and give up this fight as well. we get up, man puts his coat on and as i turn and grab mine and get my purse, i look up and man is already out the door.
(note: i do not need you to put my effing coat on for me. in fact, i would rather you didn't. however, i do expect you to wait until i get my coat on so that we can exit the restaurant together).

walk back to man's house, cross over same icy patch the size of lake champlain and man briskly walks ahead complaining of the cold. i pull a triple sow cow to get across ice. i tell him i'm going to start my car and let it warm up and he says he'll meet me inside. sweet. i traverse the street covered in more black ice to get to my car, start it and consider driving away, but know that would be rude and it's so frigid the ride home would be much better in a warm car. head back inside feeling very much like a sacrificial lamb.

man is in his bedroom laying on bed with duck pillow cases and mismatched bedding. in one swift movement i turn and immediately head back to living room so as not to give man. any. ideas. man follows closely and i grasp my coat around me like a shield. i have belt on coat cinched so tightly i am cutting off circulation. hurts to breath. feeling light-headed.

man pulls me down on couch and i can't decide which is more repulsive, the dirty doggy couch or the person on it. man tries getting fresh and i jump up like my butt is smoking and yawn and stretch and remind him it's thursday and i had better get going. man tells me i'm rigid and type-a and really need to loosen up. he tells me i'm not a very sexual person. by now, i'm wondering how i would be such a great stripper after all. i'm okay with this man thinking i am a prude, so i agree and tell him he's probably right even though i have never been described as rigid or asexual, but stranger things have happened. i cordially thank him one more time and awkwardly pat him on the knee. i flee as quickly as i can without sprinting.

i loosen my belt before my foot hits the first step from his porch and begin to breath easier. i drive at least 10 miles over the speed limit all the way home.

(note: this was based on actual events. seriously, people. i took one for the team. the lesson here: do not feel obligated to go on a date just because someone else thinks you would be a good match. that someone else is probably an idiot just like his friend. also, keep the bad dates filed away so that you appreciate the good ones. that's all).