oh(d) to the blind date

a friend thought it might be a good idea to set me up on a blind date. with someone that he hasn't seen in over a year. a year during which this person got divorced.

we spoke on the phone. he seemed nice enough. smart enough. sushi was our destination. but somehow i got talked into parking my car at his place because “finding a place near the restaurant would be impossible".

i, not uncharacteristically, showed up late. and i noticed that a divorce can take a toll. or add to a toll. or make you - and others - simply lie about your "stature". looked like a turtle, he did.

apologizing for my tardiness, i declared that we should immediately head to the restaurant. he explained how he was unable to secure any reservations. well, nothing before 9:15 anyway.

"ugh..." i bemoaned. "well, there are dozens of restaurants out there."

"come in. take your boots off and relax. i ended up ordering in. i brought the sushi here."

my first reaction was one of thrill, as though my best friend had just ordered in and we were going to eat in front of the tv. but then reality set in: turtleman had bamboozled me into spending the evening in his home.

and this is where everyone says "that's when you should have left."

yes, that is when i should have left. because he changed our plans, and switched the power dynamic, all that stuff. but at times, i can be terribly unwise. especially when hungry.

he presented a bottle of - and i use the term loosely - champagne. i smirked and accepted it. we drank it on the couch while chatting - about him. he spilled most of it, and what he didn't spill, he coughed up on himself. i tossed aside his pamphlet of "fabulous things elton, tina, and mick and i did in the 80s" and got up to get some water. while in the kitchen, he came at me. lips poised and pursed, arms outstretched and outreached. in the international sign of "nuh uh" i pressed my hand into his soft and yielding chest.

"stop," i said.

then came the stream of uninspired "you're so this..." and "you're driving me so that."

the lips lurched again. i shook my head, incredulous that i was going to have to duck under his arm to get away from him, i ducked under his arm to get away from him.

i walked to my coat, boots, hats, mitts, and bag.


"that's an actual move, the duck and run," a friend informed me.

"how gross," i thought.

i promptly received hate-mail from he-who-ate-too-much-during-his-divorce. it stated how he spent much of the week looking forward to meeting me and how he spent precious time (and resources!) to host me a nice dinner. not only was i quite distant, but i left as quickly as i could - "exactly like one would at a restaurant!"

and that he could fairly say that he felt "used" after the events of the evening finally sunk in.


"don't do it!" advised a friend. "don't take the low road. just leave it... LEAVE IT!"

"no. i'm tired. i always take the high road. here is a perfect opportunity for me to go low. really, really low. i WANT to take the low road."

"please consider the high road," she implored.

"nope."

my email stated that i appreciated his time and resources (he meant money, right?), but i also provided a few tips. “thank someone when they clean up your spills. and try not to remove your shoes in the middle of a conversation. and if a woman doesn't want to kiss you, back off. unless she understands what you're paying for.”

he replied to that with a slew of joke-mails about how women use you for money, how all we can do is spend money, and how it takes us 3 hours and 26 minutes to buy a pair of pants at the gap, how we are fat, and how we have a bunch of knobs and dials while men are simply an "on/off" switch. he's 47.

i wanted to go lower.

"how old are you? 12?” my friend screamed.

"he had man boobs!" i screamed back.

"leave it. delete it and leave it."

"nope," i said.

i emailed him and informed him of his moobs.

oh, he emailed back, thanking me and whatnot. but i'm now back on the highroad. it was just a minor detour. an unpleasant detour.