SOS: Date From Hell Part 2

My attempt at finding humor in the train wreck that was my dating life for the sake of Brillig's Soap Opera Sunday. Find Part One here. If you haven't already read it, you might want to or you might not understand the depth of my horror.

So there we were, driving along in what could only be loosely deemed a "car." I noticed he was heading for an area known for it's many restaurants and gigantic movie theater. Cool. Some of my favorite dining establishments were located there. Maybe this wasn't so bad. But just in case, I did a mental check to make sure I remembered to put some cash in my purse. It would fit in with the beginning of our date to have him "forget" his wallet.

We arrive and park at the very back of the huge movie theater parking lot. There wasn't an actual reason for this. There were plenty of spaces a lot closer to the box office. Perhaps he didn't want anyone to ding his cool paint job. So we walk toward the movie theater and he asks me what kind of movies I like. Well actually, he didn't ask. It was more of a statement.

"You like girl movies, right?"

"Girl? Movies?"

"Yeah, with lots of kissing and stuff."

"Well, I like all kinds of movies," I respond, trying not to notice that my shoulder is throbbing from wrenching that blasted door open. "Sometimes a good explosion is better than lovey-dovey stuff."

He scowls at me. Seriously. Furrowed brow and everything. Seems I am not fitting into the mold and I should be ashamed or something.

We get to the box office and he gets two tickets to a movie starting in two hours. TWO HOURS. With this guy. If he makes me sling open that car door one more time...And it's a "girl movie." Oh joy. But our hike is not over. He declares it to be time for dinner and heads back into the parking lot. I follow, acutely aware of the fact that my shoes, while totally fab and looking great with my outfit, are rather uncomfortable in situations where taking more than 10 steps is required. I don't remember the small talk as we walked. But I do remember my pinkie toe was whimpering pitifully by the time we crossed the median that separated the movie parking lot from the restaurant.

And the restaurant he chose? Wait for it...

Red Lobster.

Did you read Part One? Did you read how we met? What started our conversation? Because apparently I was the only one who was there or something. Obviously this guy was staring so deeply into my lovely eyes (or cleavage) that he didn't hear a word. I walked all the way across the mile long parking lot for Red Lobster? Now my pinkie toe really did cry, along with the rest of me.

Since I had to sit in that stinky place with Mole Boy, I would make it worthwhile. I ordered the steak! And the table conversation was weird. He again started making all kinds of statements about how he believed women to be and then seemed absolutely flabbergasted that I would negate his core beliefs. For instance?

"I bet you kiss on the first date."

"Uh," I managed while trying not to choke. "Actually, no, I don't."

"You probably hate sports."

"No, I really love hockey," I replied, but my efforts to discuss the Dallas Stars brought only blank stares.

"Then you must be a huge fan of poetry."

"Only Shel Silverstein." (I don't think he knew who that was because he smiled smugly, having conquered my go-against-the-flow thinking.)

If ever there was a lapse in the conversation, he would chant "Um, um, um..." while snapping his fingers, no doubt trying to come up with his next sexist generalization. At one point, I'd had enough and excused myself to go powder my nose. While looking for the ladies' room, I spotted the courtesy phone. Immediately, I dialed my best friend and proceeded to tell her all the awful details. While she tried to commiserate with me, she was leaving on her own date. I still managed to kill about 20 minutes before I decided I had to go back and see this to the bitter, bitter end.

When I arrived at the table, he immediately jumped up and was ready to go. Ooookay...as I put my jacket on, I noticed there was no tip on the table. Mole Boy didn't have a credit card (another one of his assumptions, that no one our age would have one and of course I did). Surely he wouldn't stiff our waiter...

"How much did you tip?" I asked as I walked as slowly as possible.

"I never tip," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, still trying to guide me by my elbow out the door.

I stopped. Despite my height, I can hold my own pretty well so he stumbled right into me when I wasn't moving in the direction was leading me. I opened my purse, pulled out a ten and left it on the table, never even looking at him once. Then I marched out of the restaurant, leaving him and his long legs scurrying to catch up. I always over tip. Only if the service is absolutely horrible will I consider leaving a small tip, and then I've usually asked to speak to the manager.

Next came the long walk back across that immense parking lot. My little toe was begging again, but this time it was asking to kick him. As we walked, he kept trying to talk. I wasn't really in the mood for conversation so he got mostly grunts in response. Bet he thought girls didn't grunt.

Then, about halfway across the asphalt desert, he asks me a question, possibly the first one of the evening:

"Would you like to take my arm?"

I almost tripped. Then I almost laughed. Didn't help Mole Boy that was on my right side, where my shoulder don't work so good. And after wrestling with his car door, was in no mood to be wrapped around anything.

"Why?" I asked, "What's wrong with it?"

I smiled and kept walking, causing perhaps just a little more space to open up between us.

This post is getting long...I didn't realize there was so much pent-up bitterness after this date. So we're going to have to wait until next week to see what happens when Mole Boy doesn't get the hint.

Happy Mother's Day!