I wish I would have thought about this sooner so you could have read this on Valentine’s Day, but again, I’m right on time. My time. However your VD was, the holiday, not the disease (I hope), I’m sure it was more eventful than my own. After a long hiatus from booze, I threw back a bottle of Rosé (well, part of a bottle anyway) and decided talking to you guys would be much more fun than anything else on the internet. Here’s to the raging headache I’ll have tomorrow and a giant middle finger to love.
I’m sure this will come as no surprise to most of you out there tuning into this station, but I have spent the majority of my adult life as a single gal, especially after that last line. I’m saving all of my awesome for the right man, or just waiting for the next one I can sucker into longevity, I’ll let you decide.
In the meantime, I have had my fair share of adventures in the wide, wide, world of dating. I typically use online dating services to snare my pre…I mean to meet new people. When I was a hairstylist, I didn’t mix business with pleasure. Meaning, I wouldn’t go on a blind date with a cousin, grandson, a rat terrier, wait, what? Anyhow, you get the picture. I liked my clients, but I wanted to keep them. Not run them off with my amazing dating skills. So, it was back to the internet to find true love.
This particular gentleman I met on Tinder. I’d never used that app before because I got confused on which damn way to swipe. So after continually matching with people such as a snake wrangler, the guy that had literal ROBOT ARMS and was a stand-up comedian (hysterical, how are you not funny with ROBOT ARMS?), and numerous men’s first message being, “I bet you got a big ole butt.” What? What does that even mean? Do I? should I? Am I missing out because I don’t know what a “big ole butt” is? Anyway, I decided Tinder was DEFINITELY not for me. But not before I met this incredibly charming and very funny giant. No, really, he was 6’8”. Six feet. Eight inches. Tall.
I used to have a convertible MINI Cooper. He would fold his legs up like a paper crane and drive us around, because I hate to drive. When we parked and he unfolded (that’s literally the only way to describe this magnificent feat) his legs and got out, people stood in amazement. I felt like I should be wearing a top hat and taking people’s tickets every time we went somewhere.
But anyway, back to the date. I can’t remember (because of the aforementioned booze I’m quite certain) if it was our first date or the second, maybe the third. But definitely one of the 3. We were walking up the sidewalk nearing the restaurant door and it happens. A crack in the sidewalk that has made this date live on in infamy. Upon navigating said crack, down I go. On all fours. Tore the knee in my, BRAND NEW, for the date, jeans and scraped my palms up.
Now this is back when I owned a purse that had that dumbass single magnetic snap that looked more like a reusable grocery bag we use now. You know, the kind you throw things blindly into without thinking you will FALL DOWN while carrying it? That’s right, as if right on cue out pours the entire contents of that fucking purse all around me. The best was when the coins hit the ground, runaway pennies and quarters going everywhere, all around me making their great escape. I wanted to DIE, crawl under 25 cents and just pretend this never happened.
But wait, there’s more! As this unfortunate series of events is taking place my date is simultaneously yelling at me, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Oh, I don’t know, checking the aggregate of this concrete to determine how badly my knees and palms are going to fare? What does it look like I’m doing? I’m convinced the only way to repair damaged pride is with laughter. Thankfully, he did too as he reached for my hand to help me up. We stood there laughing at the change scattered about, and I decided if I can’t manage to simply walk up a sidewalk I damn sure can’t be trusted to gather loose change. So, into the restaurant we went to recount the story and laugh about what he thought I was actually doing over a few drinks and dinner.
For those of you wondering, no, it wasn’t our last date. We went on several more where I managed to stay upright…for the date. He was such a fun, kind-hearted, gentle giant. If he was so great why are we not still together, you ask? Well, because I may or may not be “difficult” to date. Translation: I’m a real asshole sometimes. Now I know there are more than a couple of you out there that actually get to say that about me, and it be true, ok a few, alright a handful. I’m not going any higher.
Thanks for the memories and a story I get to share with these fine folks.
There’s more archive fun where that came from. I’m still in Florida. And per the usual, I wish I wasn’t. But It’s the warmest state in the union right now so, I’ll take it. I’m ready to move on down the highway and have fresh stories to share with you all. Until then, cheers!
