If you're a faithful reader of Twenty Plus+ and were asked to describe the author's worst date ever you would undoubtedly refer the questioner to the blog concerning Mr.Suave. And rightfully so, because that was the worst date I had ever been on. At least that I can remember.
Yet, in my never ending quest to one-up myself, albeit by reaching greater levels of hopelessness rather than improvement, a new suitor has risen to take that infamous title from Mr. Suave. This one successfully flipped the script on me, in that he didn't come with even greater mishaps than kidnapping, rudeness, and self absorption. What would that possibly entail, I wonder? No, instead he ruined the date with the subtlety of a fox, if not the wit of one. (That would be too interesting).
As a part of this program I'm supposed to be following, I strive to be open to almost anyone, so as not to rule out future hubby. God forbid! I am experiencing new people, places, and situations. I am open. So when Mr. Blah came into my restaurant the first time I saw an opportunity. Interest and curiosity sparked both our eyes. And when he didn't ask for my number after a brief but pleasant conversation, instead saying his goodbyes, I thought that was cute. After all, he knew where I worked and could show up again. Exciting, no?
"Ah, the chase mon ami," as Hercule Poirot would instruct Hastings. The run almost became a marathon as Mr. Blah would come in to "eat"-translation see me-for two more weeks before asking me out. His method went from cute to stalker-ish/Is he looking for an affair and this is a neutral place? He did mention his ex-wife, but who knows with all this baby-mama-drama in the world today? Maybe they have an arrangement.
Before the first date I also learned he was from Detroit, hates Phoenix like me, has a little girl, and is working on starting his own business selling knock-offs of designer labels. Everybody has a dream. All of the facts I've gathered so far are just that-facts. Underneath the thrill of being pursued lies nothing. I have no interest in this man, what he's doing, or where he's going. I chasten myself for being so cold and close-minded. All I think is what I've read in the dating how-to book, "Give it at least one date, maybe two." So when he asks me what I like to do in my spare time I innocently rattle off my interests, not anticipating the inevitable, "Why don't we do one of those things together?" play. Thus, being totally blindsided by this smooth move, I must admit, I automatically respond yes.
He calls before we go out. He asks me what I want to do and where I want to go. He takes me to a nice place. We talk. He pays. He's a perfect gentleman.
And perfectly boring.
I can't conjure up chemistry even with a drink in my hand.
That's when I know: Sometimes your first instinct is right. You're not being close-minded. You just really don't like this person and never will. It'll never happen.
And it makes me wonder about this thing called chemistry. Like love, it's hard to define but easy to recognize. Either you have it together, or you don't. And I think about my ex-Mr. Wrong Right Now and the chemistry we had. It was amazing, like one of the natural wonders of the world. Why was everything else in that relationship so wrong?
Yet, in my never ending quest to one-up myself, albeit by reaching greater levels of hopelessness rather than improvement, a new suitor has risen to take that infamous title from Mr. Suave. This one successfully flipped the script on me, in that he didn't come with even greater mishaps than kidnapping, rudeness, and self absorption. What would that possibly entail, I wonder? No, instead he ruined the date with the subtlety of a fox, if not the wit of one. (That would be too interesting).
As a part of this program I'm supposed to be following, I strive to be open to almost anyone, so as not to rule out future hubby. God forbid! I am experiencing new people, places, and situations. I am open. So when Mr. Blah came into my restaurant the first time I saw an opportunity. Interest and curiosity sparked both our eyes. And when he didn't ask for my number after a brief but pleasant conversation, instead saying his goodbyes, I thought that was cute. After all, he knew where I worked and could show up again. Exciting, no?
"Ah, the chase mon ami," as Hercule Poirot would instruct Hastings. The run almost became a marathon as Mr. Blah would come in to "eat"-translation see me-for two more weeks before asking me out. His method went from cute to stalker-ish/Is he looking for an affair and this is a neutral place? He did mention his ex-wife, but who knows with all this baby-mama-drama in the world today? Maybe they have an arrangement.
Before the first date I also learned he was from Detroit, hates Phoenix like me, has a little girl, and is working on starting his own business selling knock-offs of designer labels. Everybody has a dream. All of the facts I've gathered so far are just that-facts. Underneath the thrill of being pursued lies nothing. I have no interest in this man, what he's doing, or where he's going. I chasten myself for being so cold and close-minded. All I think is what I've read in the dating how-to book, "Give it at least one date, maybe two." So when he asks me what I like to do in my spare time I innocently rattle off my interests, not anticipating the inevitable, "Why don't we do one of those things together?" play. Thus, being totally blindsided by this smooth move, I must admit, I automatically respond yes.
He calls before we go out. He asks me what I want to do and where I want to go. He takes me to a nice place. We talk. He pays. He's a perfect gentleman.
And perfectly boring.
I can't conjure up chemistry even with a drink in my hand.
That's when I know: Sometimes your first instinct is right. You're not being close-minded. You just really don't like this person and never will. It'll never happen.
And it makes me wonder about this thing called chemistry. Like love, it's hard to define but easy to recognize. Either you have it together, or you don't. And I think about my ex-Mr. Wrong Right Now and the chemistry we had. It was amazing, like one of the natural wonders of the world. Why was everything else in that relationship so wrong?
