Oh, my God, Len, we must stop meeting like this! I swear I clicked on this topic because it looked like fun! Well, now that I am here....
THE DATE FROM HELL
My marriage had just ended. After all those years, dating felt like an unknown world. A professional colleague at another company asked me out to dinner. Okay, he seemed nice enough and was unlikely to dismember me before dessert, so I accepted.
It was a very busy and tiring week that followed, so I was glad of something to look forward to. On Friday evening we went to a Chinese restaurant on the upper West Side, where he calmly ordered without consulting with me (and he was not ordering something special). This was not an auspicious beginning. As anyone who has encountered me an another thread can tell, this is not exactly my style; however, I am not quick to judge and the evening was still young.
After dinner, we went to a performance of "Forbidden Broadway" and sat on the bar, yes, on the bar. I'd have enjoyed it very much--except that every time he found something funny, he pounded my back for emphasis while he laughed. I found this a rather strange and potentially painful personal tic.
After the performance, he invited me back to his apartment for a glass of wine. While there, I noticed that his telephone had no number showing. Hmmm. Abruptly, he yawned broadly (My God, were those his tonsils?) and announced that I was welcome to stay the night but that he was tired.
Charming.
But wait, there's more.
Assuming that this behavior might be attributable to exhaustion (it had been a hell of a week), I suggested that he have dinner with me the following night, when he'd had a chance to get some rest. I saw myself out.
The next evening, he arrived atrociously late. Bringing nothing. I offered him a glass of wine, chatted for a while, and went into the kitchen to finish dinner. We continued to talk, since it's a very short distance. When I brought dinner to the table, I saw that in the 20 minutes I'd been in the kitchen, he'd finished the bottle of wine!
I must admit, I blinked for a moment. I'd had less than one glass. Luckily, I had another bottle chilled, which I opened so that I could have a glass with dinner. (And called to mind the number of a reliable car service.)
Ladies and gentlemen, he kept on drinking, ignoring a number of polite suggestions that he stop. He grew maudlin, giving me his personal rendition of "I never sang for my father," and attempted to fall asleep in the plate of food.
With a resigned sigh, I manhandled him out of his clothes and into bed. Where he proceeded to try to have sex, muttering, "You know you want it, you slut." And then to snore very loudly all night.
In the morning, I felt pity on the hangover I assumed he must feel. I offered him coffee and orange juice and asked him if he'd like eggs and toast for breakfast. He wanted cereal. I do not usually eat cereal. My upstairs neighbor was away, so I checked her kitchen for cereal and found puffed rice. (I am a patient soul.)
He ate puffed rice but complained at the lack of selection. (!) When he left, I was reading the Times, feeling a bit depressed, when the utter absurdity of the whole encounter struck me with so much force that I laughed myself into hiccups.
P.S. He called me for another "date"--for Valentine's Day! Not!
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