I woke up recently after a night out drinking with the girls with a bit of a headache and not much memory of the evening. But I found all of my receipts and bar tabs and chalked it up to a good night -- until 5:00 o'clock rolled around and my phone rang. "Carl? Ummmm . . .yes . . . I met you last night? We talked? I gave you my number? Hmm?" My dilemma was this: was he in fact some hot stud I had been eyeballing or was he just some guy I wanted off my back and so I gave him my number to make him go away? If it was the latter I would have probably given him my digits with a wrong number or two thrown into the mix, so that leaves the former. I guess I really dug this stud. I went with it and set up a date.
The week went along and Friday night we were to meet. I met him there since I like to have my own get-away car. I was early and had the host seat me somewhere I could keep the whole bar and restaurant in view and assess the situation. About five minutes later in walks a very buff, beefy-like character. Like he had ham hocks strapped on his thighs. Let's just say I am a vegetarian, both in my food consumption and in my taste for men. This was surely the wrong guy! There must be some mistake! The man dwarfed Arnold and made a mockery of Sylvester! I mean, this man was huge. He sat down and I tried to be pleasant and not stare because his tree trunk neck is bigger than my waist.
We order food and he orders the T-bone. I usually don't care when people eat meat in front of me, but for some reason it did this time. Maybe it's because this Carl ended up being a total perv. With every bite of carnage, out spewed some sexual comment. "So, where do you like to have sex?" Bite. "What's your favorite thing to do to a guy?" Bite. Was this guy really asking me this? I tried to laugh it off and told him I didn't think it was appropriate to be talking this candidly about sex on a first date. He said he thought people were too conservative about sex and it would be best if people just opened up. Bite. In with the carnage, out with the garbage. This was the date from hell. I ate my pasta primavera as fast as I could and told him I was feeling ill and had to go home.
"Oh, I forgot to ask you. My car broke down yesterday, so I had my roommate drop me off here. Would you mind taking me home?" What the hell is the purpose of the get-away car if you have to drive them home? Fine, Fine I said, but we must leave NOW.
But the drive home was the worst part. On the 15 minute drive home he just stared at my breasts and told me I was blessed with "great curves" -- and he thought he could get away with it because he had a drippy smile on face when he said it. We finally arrived at his house but Paul Bunyon wouldn't leave my car. He just kept staring. "I had a great time . . ." Stare. "Do you think I can have a kiss?" Stare. Is he for real? Why don't guys read body language? My whole body is facing the driver-side door and he wants a freaking kiss? After 20 minutes of telling him he had to leave, I finally got the oaf out of my car.
A lesson to you girls . . . a 10 at 2, is a 2 at 10.