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Dating Sucks

I’m a happily married woman, and have been so for coming up to two years now. But before I got together with Mark, I had some dating train-wrecks. Dating sucks, and I am glad I am no longer part of that world.

The one that stands out in my mind was actually a blind date. I was a university student and not really an avid dater (meaning, I never got asked out on dates). The university newspaper would set students up on blind dates and then report on how the date went. For some reason I still don’t understand, I thought this might be fun, so I applied. I was accepted and set up with some guy, but shortly before we were to go out, the guy cancelled (demonstrating a fair amount of common sense that I apparently lacked) and one of the newspaper staff members was sent in his stead.

I showed up at the restaurant where we were to meet, but no one had told me to inform the restaurant staff that I was a blind date participant, so I got a table, sat down and waited. And waited. And waited some more. The guy didn’t show, and finally the restaurant staff deduced who I was and sent me off to another table, where my date had been waiting the entire time.

Apparently, the guy didn’t like what he saw, and he was pissed that he had to wait. He introduced himself as Geoff and promptly informed me that his boss at the newspaper had told him that he had to go on the date—he had not volunteered and did not want to be there. We were off to a great start!

Geoff was no prize himself—he was several inches shorter than me and talked about how he put his step-brother through a wall for touching his stuff, also informing me that he had a nasty temper. Alrighty then.

I felt bad for the screw up and for making him wait, so I tried to be congenial and I asked him a lot about himself. We didn’t have a lot in common, and he obviously was not thrilled that I was not 5’2”, 100 pounds and blonde, so it was a tense and uncomfortable meal, to say the least.

After our meal, we decided to go and shoot some pool. I am not very good at pool but decided to go along and try to salvage something from this date—maybe Geoff would loosen the hell up and stop glaring at me if we were doing something fun. So pool it was. We had not been playing long before some attractive young woman saw him and came over to talk to him. Apparently, they knew each other from waaaay back, and Geoff took the next 30 minutes or so talking to her and ignoring me. He never even introduced me to her. I stood by myself, pool cue in a death grip, not sure what to do in this intensely awkward situation. I felt very foolish. Then he came wandering back over to me and told me she was an old friend and hinted that he wanted her to be more—he never apologized for leaving me standing there, and I wasn’t sure how to react. I was angry, but I knew the date was an exercise in futility anyway, so why bother taking him to task for his behaviour? I wasn’t going to see him again, so what difference did it make? Still, looking back now, I should have crammed that pool cue up his ass and paraded him around the bar as an example to others of how NOT to act on a date.

At any rate, I managed to get through the game and didn’t object when he said he wanted to call it a night. He had manners enough to walk me to my car and was polite enough as we parted ways. While not a stellar date, we seemed to part amicably enough. When the newspaper staff called me the next day and asked me how the date went, I didn’t want to embarrass Geoff by disclosing what an asshole I thought he was. I just didn’t think that was very nice, so I blandly told them it had gone fine. I think I showed grace and dignity in not publicly lambasting the bastard, but I later wished I had just let loose about what I really thought of him.

It turns out that Geoff had told the newspaper that he was afraid of me because of my size—I’m 5’7”, for god’s sake, and while not a waif, I was not an Amazon either. I was a pretty average size, but I guess to a smurf like him, I must have seemed imposingly tall. He also said he was scared of me because I kept talking about putting people through walls—he found me to be a violent person! WTF?! I had briefly talked about how I was doing Olympic-style weightlifting at the time, because frankly I thought it was pretty cool, but HE was the one who talked about putting his step-brother through a wall—that wasn’t me! He made me out to be some sort of violent Chyna-type madwoman who regularly rampaged and tossed people around like ragdolls. He lied, and I still don’t really understand why. I guess he couldn’t really say, “Well, she wasn’t hot, so I spent some time talking to another girl, who I think is hot and want to nail.” But still, why couldn’t he just have said something like, “yeah, it was okay, but I don’t think we are meant for each other.” I could have lived with that—but no, he lied. And the best part? He didn’t even have to use his real name! He was listed as “Fred Flintstone,” so everyone knew who I was (full name and picture!) but no one ever knew who my “mystery date” was. @#$%!!!!

I scoured the halls of the university for weeks after that article was published, hoping to find him, grab him by the scruff of the neck and channel my inner Chyna. I wanted to lay the smack down on him in a big way, but I never did see the little shit again.

This is one of my worst dating experiences, and I guess it wasn’t THAT bad, looking back on it now. I’ve heard of worse. But I resent that he was so nasty to me—okay, so I wasn’t his ideal, and on first look, he didn’t like what he saw. But he wasn’t my ideal either, and did he really have to be so rude? Did he really have to let me know right off the bat that he didn’t even want to be there? It kind of killed the rest of the date, which could have at least been fun if he hadn’t been such an idiot.

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