The Blind Date.....From Hell

Before I continue the blind date from hell story, I need to take care of some business.

First, I wanted to thank the always funny Mama Bear, Penelope Anne from Cafe at the End of the Universe for the You Make Me Smile award.


I will be passing this on a bit later in the week.

I also wanted to let my readers know about a wonderful new site the Fabulous Mrs. Fussypants has started called MarriageHacks. Full of insightful articles and helpful advice, it is a must-read for any women who wants to learn the Gentle Art of Ruling her Husband! There is also a private, invitation-only support group of Extraordinary Wives. Sometimes I hit 10:00pm and realize that my adult conversation has been limited to 2 text messages from Dave. Having an online support group of caring ladies who are more interested in building up their marriages instead of husband-bashing is a true blessing. You can click on the link in my left column for more information.

Now, on to the rest of the story. Click to read part one of The Blind Date

Matt turned around and looked up at me with a smile on his face. Or at least, part of him looked up at me. You see, one eye was looking right at me, but the other eye was looking about six feet to my right.

Oh crap, what to do? Do I slouch down, slip off my heels and try to at least achieve eye-level? But then eye-level would present a new problem. Do I look at the good eye, or do I look at the wanderer? I knew I should just look at the good eye, but it was like a bad car accident. You know you shouldn't look, but you just can't help it. Outside, I was all maturity, but inside I was giggling like a middle-schooler.

I composed my inner girl, focused on the eye that was looking at me and began the small-talk. Because we had talked so often and at such length on the phone, it was actually a pretty comfortable beginning. Comfortable in the yes-I-am-with-a-midget-with-a-crazy-eye-wearing-a-volunteer-firefighter-jacket sort of way.

I asked if he wanted to sit at the bar, but he declined.

warning #4: any 20-something man who declines any alcohol on a blind-date, may not be quite as 20-something as you have been led to believe.

Now, maybe I was feeling guilty for having cancelled on him several times, or maybe I was just up to a challenge, but I was determined to stick dinner out and at least enjoy some conversation and food. He, on the other hand, had other ideas.

A few minutes after we sat down, Matt asked me about my parents. He knew I was in the middle of a divorce (yeah, I wrote newly divorced last post, but it wasn't actually finalized or anything. That part didn't actually happen until 3 weeks before Dave and I got married, but that's just a minor detail, not even worth mentioning. Forget I said anything), and I had mentioned that my parents had finally accepted that idea (not that they ever particularly cared for my ex; they just hated the idea of divorce). So his follow-up question threw me off-guard.

"Did you tell them about me, yet?"

HUH?

"Um, you mean that I'm on a date? Nooooo, I don't really talk to my parents about my social life" (See forgotten comment not mentioned above)

He hemmed and hawed a bit, but it was obvious that he didn't just mean I was on a date, rather, he thought I would have told my parents about him, specifically.

warning #5: if he thinks dates should be discussed with one's parents before they actually occur, he may have issues larger than the obvious.

The conversation naturally steered itself towards his parents and then a shocker. Because no-taste, no-height and dual-vision were not enough for one night.

"Well, I told my mom all about you and before I left, she gave me a hug and said, 'If she's not Jewish, don't even think about falling for her.'"

By this time, the warning bells were clanging so loudly I could hardly hear my response.

"Oh, how sweet, you stopped at your moms before coming here. You guys sound really close." In that Mommy-Dearest sort of way.

"Oh, no, I still live with my parents." OK, so he's still living with his parents. So either he's a 23 year old with some delayed adolescence issues or...

"Wow, so how old are you anyway?" And why the heck didn't I think to ask this vital piece of information in one of our many conversations.

"Eighteen."

And right about then, I started planning how to kill Paula, the friend who had convinced me that I had to date her tall, handsome, about-my-age perfect man. MAN. Not boy, not teenager, not kid still living at home.

By that point, I was just ready to hit the door, but I figured I would at least finish my dinner. Heck, maybe his mom was buying and I wouldn't have to even open my purse!

We finished the rest of our meal in lively conversation. He was either too naive or too in love (the third part of this tale lends itself to the latter), to realize how unlikely a union this was, and there were no awkward lulls. I even got used to the eye.

We parted with no direct plans to meet again, just the obligatory "I'll call you." I walked away, shaking my head, quite sure I would never again have such an odd date. And equally certain that Matt would be a nothing more than a colorful part of my past.

But I was wrong.


to be continued...