SOS: Date From Hell Part 3

We join our story, already in progress (Part One and Part Two) as our heroine battles Mole Boy in a darkened theater. Will she come out unscathed? Or will she succumb to his insistence that she must kiss on a first date?

We got to the movie early. Of course. And there's nothing more pleasant than sitting in a darkened room with someone who keeps trying to put the moves on you, while praying that the projectionist will accidentally start the movie 30 minutes early so this punk will get distracted and leave you the heck alone.

What makes his efforts all the more irritating was the fact that he kept making more sexist remarks about what he knows girls like. For instance, all girls like to share the big bucket of popcorn so they can hold hands with their dates inside it. Really? The idea of clinging to someone else's greasy hand doesn't appeal to me. I'd rather stuff my face with all that salty goodness...with my own bucket, thank you.

This was a new theater. It had stadium seating, back when that was a new concept. Also, the armrests on the seats could be pushed up to allow for the ultimate snuggling experience. Or to make room for larger bottoms. I was hoping against hope that Mole Boy did not know about this little feature. He did. As soon as the lights went down to start the show, he went for the armrest, my last defensive barrier. Dang it.

The movie was The Mirror Has Two Faces. It starred Barbra Streisand. I don't like Babs. Her music is okay but she is sooooo incredibly full of herself that I just never cared for her (gay men everywhere are deleting my blog from their blogrolls in horror at that statement). The plot of the movie: Ugly woman hates herself, hates mother. She meets a cute guy who wants a relationship but without the complication that intimacy brings. She agrees. She falls in love with him, he refuses to sleep with her. He leaves on a long trip, she loses weight, dyes her hair blonde, learns how to use make-up, and changes into a uber babe. He returns and is so smitten with her that they must immediately consummate their sham marriage. Or something like that. But Barbra was the director and just couldn't make herself look as frumpy on film as her character was supposed to look. And she's in about 99% of the shots. It was the worst movie I'd ever been forced to watch on a date (with Six Days Seven Nights a close second...but that's another story).

So there I am, wedged as far as I can go in my seat, watching an impossibly stupid movie, eating no popcorn (because I re-fus-ed to put my hand in that bucket lest he take it for a sign), with Mole Boy pressed up against my left shoulder. At least he wasn't on my bad shoulder. But he was laying his head on my shoulder and he hair smelled like WD-40 or something else I'd find in a garage. Awkward much?

I went to the bathroom twice during the movie. Didn't really need to, just wanted away, get some fresh air. The second time, I considered having a friend pick me up and just leaving him behind. But that would be mean. So I opted to endure to the end.

As soon as the credits started rolling, I peeled myself away from him and nearly dashed to the car, with my injured pinkie toe urging me to run faster. He drove me home, scarcely believing that I did not thoroughly enjoy the "girl movie." Like a good boy, he walked me to my door. And like a good girl, I thanked him for the evening. Might have hurried a little too quickly to get away from him because he was getting that look. All girls know that look...the one that a boy gets when he really wants to kiss you and is just waiting for the moment. I did not give him an opening. When he started to lean in, I kept my head turned away, so if he attempted a kiss, he'd get my ear. Didn't help that my porch light really brought out his moles.

I ducked inside with one last "goodnight" and quickly closed the door behind me. Finally! I intended to celebrate the conclusion of that misery with a big slice of my birthday cake. But alas, the anguish was not over: someone ate the rest of my cake! That's what I get with three brothers and a sister still living at home.

He still emailed me. I just acted like the girl he thought I would be and didn't get the hints that he wanted to see me again. He showed up at a few dances and asked me to dance but by then, I was seeing someone new so my new crush got most of the dances. Mole Boy finally took the hint after a few months. He's not a quick one, I'd say.

And just to prove how cold-hearted I am...the reason I refer to him as Mole Boy is not to protect his true identity but because I can't actually remember his name! Paul? Michael? I got nothing.