This was a terrible date. Far and away the worst I'd ever been on, and I'm well-versed in Internet dating, so, I know what I'm talking about. I've had dates who talked the whole time while I sat there silently screaming at the bartender with my eyes to help me. I've had a date yell at a waiter until she cried. I've had a date tell me he only dated women who ordered salads at restaurants, because he liked the "feminine" type.
Tonight's contestant -- Mike -- was a special blend of those three scenarios, which I think makes him the winner. Of, you know...something. The icing on the cake with this one is that I let him drive. I know what you're thinking -- what idiot lets an Internet date pick hr up at her house? Well, don't worry, I'm not that stupid. Mike and I were setup by a mutual friend. At least I thought she was a friend until now. I'd still been reluctant, but he insisted, and I'm going through a phase where "traditional" men sound really enticing. I think it is due to a long list of exes who "didn't want anything serious." But I don't think Mike is traditional. I think he just needs s a captive date, because otherwise they'd run away before dinner arrived.
So now I'm suffering through another childhood story while the trees zip by; very quickly, actually, now that I'm not so busy pitying myself that I fail to notice. My eyes flick over to the speedometer to see 90 just before the blue lights start flashing. I immediately panic, as a law-abiding citizen who rarely gets pulled over does, and Mike slams his fist against the dashboard, as a person with clear anger-management issues does.
His words are quite colorful as we pull off to the shoulder, and I find myself slumping down into the seat. This night can't get any worse.
"Good evening, sir. License and registration, please."
And the night is officially worse. Damn...I'm not often accused of being the average woman, but this police officer is easy to look at. His blue eyes catch mine as Mike rummages through his glove-box, and I have to look away. I haven't felt this flustered in a long time. He goes to his cruiser and Mike turns to me, "Hey, do you think you could cry?"
"What? No!"
"Please? For me?" He doesn't even manage to sound sincere. And then his hand is on my cheek. Ew. I swat it away. I don't particularly like being touched by basic strangers, but definitely not by this goon. Especially not in front of Officer Charles, who has returned.
He hands Mike a ticket, explains what it is for, and meets my gaze again. "How are you tonight, ma'am?"
"She's fine," Mike mutters, clearly tired of this encounter and disappointed that I wouldn't cry on command.
Those blue eyes don't leave mine. I summon the ability to nod, "I'm good." I swear the corner of his mouth pulls up ever-so-slightly in a smile. He taps the inside of the car door twice before leaving, and suddenly I find myself incredibly attracted to men's fingers.
Tonight's contestant -- Mike -- was a special blend of those three scenarios, which I think makes him the winner. Of, you know...something. The icing on the cake with this one is that I let him drive. I know what you're thinking -- what idiot lets an Internet date pick hr up at her house? Well, don't worry, I'm not that stupid. Mike and I were setup by a mutual friend. At least I thought she was a friend until now. I'd still been reluctant, but he insisted, and I'm going through a phase where "traditional" men sound really enticing. I think it is due to a long list of exes who "didn't want anything serious." But I don't think Mike is traditional. I think he just needs s a captive date, because otherwise they'd run away before dinner arrived.
So now I'm suffering through another childhood story while the trees zip by; very quickly, actually, now that I'm not so busy pitying myself that I fail to notice. My eyes flick over to the speedometer to see 90 just before the blue lights start flashing. I immediately panic, as a law-abiding citizen who rarely gets pulled over does, and Mike slams his fist against the dashboard, as a person with clear anger-management issues does.
His words are quite colorful as we pull off to the shoulder, and I find myself slumping down into the seat. This night can't get any worse.
"Good evening, sir. License and registration, please."
And the night is officially worse. Damn...I'm not often accused of being the average woman, but this police officer is easy to look at. His blue eyes catch mine as Mike rummages through his glove-box, and I have to look away. I haven't felt this flustered in a long time. He goes to his cruiser and Mike turns to me, "Hey, do you think you could cry?"
"What? No!"
"Please? For me?" He doesn't even manage to sound sincere. And then his hand is on my cheek. Ew. I swat it away. I don't particularly like being touched by basic strangers, but definitely not by this goon. Especially not in front of Officer Charles, who has returned.
He hands Mike a ticket, explains what it is for, and meets my gaze again. "How are you tonight, ma'am?"
"She's fine," Mike mutters, clearly tired of this encounter and disappointed that I wouldn't cry on command.
Those blue eyes don't leave mine. I summon the ability to nod, "I'm good." I swear the corner of his mouth pulls up ever-so-slightly in a smile. He taps the inside of the car door twice before leaving, and suddenly I find myself incredibly attracted to men's fingers.
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