Thursday, September 22, 2011

Want My Number?

I am...

a horrible dater.

There, I said it. Confessing ineptitude in dating is unheard of, in most cases. That's sort of like saying I'm a bad driver (equally true), or I don't like chocolate (complete fabrication). I don't know if I could shock people more if I were to utter, "I'm a bed wetter."

I started dating my ex when I was 15. We divorced when I was 30. Now, at 32, I have come to the full realization I have the growth-retarded dating skills of an ungainly adolescent.

One of the first post-divorce dates I ventured out on, after the poor guy had thrown hints for six months, was a disaster. I think this is mainly because I sabotaged it with the viciousness of an assassin. I was a ninja.  It wasn't somewhere I wanted to be -- in his vicinity, not the restaurant. This attitude was wholly unfair to the poor man. He is, overall, a nice guy. He just wasn't my type. The 15 year old  inside me, who could probably count the number of dates she'd had on one hand before tripping and falling into a relationship, had no idea how to graciously decline. I had several ideas: tell him I was in the Witness Protection Program, suddenly and fortuitously develop amnesia....Do I know you???, explain I'd pay for dinner with the proceeds of my latest bank heist, or maybe tell him I'd decided to elope with the mailman.

So, in the style of "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Dates", I set out to murder his interest with a cold-blooded calculation. All through dinner, as he was bragging about his work at the meat-processing plant (How could I not see myself with him forever?!? Mr. and Mrs. Slaughter House) and giving me the most detailed description of the process since Upton Sinclair's "The Jungle", I talked about my best male friend incessantly. I believe, in retrospect, this would've been much more effective had he not joined in with an unforseen enthusiasm to discuss his best female friend in the whole world. Just to show how understanding and empathetic I can be, I began to ask why in the world they weren't dating. She sounds like a swell gal! I'll bet she loves deer meat. Lo and behold, she's even considering moving in with him. This, I thought to myself, will be over before dessert. I was a GENIUS of untold proportions.

The fried green tomatoes & pasta came and went. Still, there he sat, beaming at me and listing every known use for venison. When the server asked if we wanted dessert, I considered all the ways I could murder her with my straw.

In the theater, sitting in the back row, two fetuses on a date of their own were chatting it up and showing off their plumage to one another throughout the previews. Awwwww. And there he sat, loudly proclaiming how RUDE it was to talk during the movie. I decided my best course of action, while regrouping from my failure to cause any dinnertime fall-out, was to keep my mouth full of popcorn at all times and nod vaguely while appearing riveted by every movie trailer and subliminal message to buy Raisinettes that appeared on the screen.

The movie came on and all I could think was, "Thank God! This will be the one bright spot of the night!! It's 3-D, too, so maybe it'll catch his marmoset monkey attention." I was exhausted from being obnoxious; I was looking forward to a break.

Five minutes in, he began to critique every bit of this film as though he were Siskel AND Ebert all wrapped up in one paragon of evaluative skills. He did this in a voice that could've projected the length of a football field, unaided by a megaphone. All the while, he continued to intersperse his monologue with righteous indignation over how rude the teens in front of us were to talk during a movie when he'd paid good money to see it. I'd have paid good money to see it, if only I could get him to hush. So ... I did the unthinkable.

I turned to him with the look I normally reserve for rowdy six year olds in class -- that steady, unnerving teacher glare that lets you know you're busted...

and I shushed him. Twice.

Surely, now, aghast at my own behavior, I believed he would tell me this was not what he'd had in mind -- dinner and detention. Nope. He just kept on chatting. It made me seriously reconsider my classroom management techniques.

After the movie, when he dropped me off on the stoop of my building (we were absolutely NOT walking inside to my door), I told him goodnight. I smiled. I gave him the kiss of death: the sideways, Baptist, three-pat hug. You know exactly what I mean: that hug you use at church for members of the opposite sex -- arm around them from the side, so there's no chest-to-chest contact and pat, pat, pat...release.

He drove off into the night, and I thought surely, surely I'd acccomplished my mission. This dating business wasn't as tricky as I'd thought. I should give date-extraction seminars! I was so proud of myself.

Two days later, he called me.

I've since gotten over the feeling that I'm going on dates in the same way I choke down brussels sprouts. No, wait....I feed those to the dog. Nevermind, you get the idea.  I still feel awkward on a date; I still feel the need to hand him a list of what will and will not happen at the end of the night, with an opt-out clause: feel free to run after appetizers, sir. I'm still never sure what to do those painful moments at my door. There's always this urge to yell, "k, thanks!" and punch him in the shoulder, then slam the door in his face. 

I am a horrible dater. I'm not sure if, statistically, I have to improve at it over time or not. It's sure never worked for my driving. But I do know this --

I'm no ninja.

1 comment:

  1. Bwahaha! My husband of 10 years and I separated a while back. We were planning a divorce. Hell, we lived apart for 10 months. I dated some...

    I, evidently, have your dating skills. I attracted:
    1)Buffalo Bill who repeatedly asked my dress size... I can only assume this was to ascertain whether or not flaying me alive would provide him with the much-needed track suit of skin.
    2)Brain injury guy.... had to pick him up cause HE COULDN'T DRIVE. He proceeded to shove his tongue down my throat in the parking lot of the bowling alley (1st date... ONLY date) and then attack me on my couch. Jesus. I thought he was gonna break my couch.. or me.
    and finally...
    3)Loser extraordinaire... couldn't drive, lived with Mama, no job, no money, 3 kids.

    I am pretty damn sure I have a freak magnet in my pocket, but I'll be damned if I can find it.

    Thankfully, I've reconciled with my husband. We both had changes to make... and we're working on them still. But I'm happier than I've been in a long time.

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