Circa 2004 I met a very hunky, ex-hockey player (Jason) at a Halloween party. My friend and I ended up accomping his party (he had rented a SUV Limo) and we went into the Detroit afterhours underworld. WOW - he was hot and completely doated on me.
The following Tuesday he called and properly asked me out. He knew of a nice place in Dearborn that had supposedly GREAT food. He showed up in a suit - so I had high hopes that he might be a keeper.
He opened the car door for me, kissed me on the cheek, and conversation flowed smoothly until we arrived.
We had pulled up to the valet of the "Toy Chest" - A strip club. I asked "Are you serious", and he again told me yes, it is a strip joint, but the food is awesome.
Whatever, I had never been to a strip club so what the hell. We walked in, and he was swarmed by the ladies (aparently he knew them all). We were seated, given menus, and ordered drinks. The menu consisted of appetizers......I continuously remind myself that this is an experience.
We got some of the overpriced appetizers, and more drinks. Then some of the "ladies" joined us, and he bought them some drinks. He left for a long while (later I found out he was snorting coke as I was offered some). He returned, more ladies come over to say hi, and he got them drinks as well.
I am now completely bored. The strip club was D class. My hopes of a fabulous date are over. The check comes................oh wouldn't you know................he forgot his credit cards and only has a $20. The bill was $160ish. He asked if I could cover it, and he promised to pay me back. but never did.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
joe, seattle
A few years ago, while living in NYC, I meet this girl at a bar. She seems pretty nice, good looking and smart. We go out a few times and on the second date, wind up getting pretty trashed and sleeping together. I barely remember what happened except for her telling me she had "The greatest date ever!" This is no joke - I toot my horn often but not here - blackout city. Two bottles of wine at dinner, followed by drinks at some dive bar in the East Village.
We go on a few more dates but no ass. The interesting thing I am starting to pick up is that she never, ever pays or even offers to pay. But my chivalry blinds me to this and I honestly don't mind so I let it pass.
So on a rainy Friday afternoon, she decides to invite herself to my summer house ("Uh, I'd love to get away this weekend - don't you have a house on the beach somewhere?"). I reluctantly say yes - she is beginning to bore me and talks and talks about nothing in particular. I'm working in the city until 5 and she's coming in from CT so we decide to meet at her sister's place in Brooklyn. She makes me wait for 30 mins on a pitch dark street in bushwick. She gets in, I am visibly annoyed, so she clams up for the rest of the drive (about 2 hours in a downpour).
We finally get into town around 8:30, I let her know that most places here close early (we were out eastern LI in the winter) so let's just grab something and bring it back to my house. She's adamant that all she wants is to, "Sit down at a nice restaurant and enjoy dinner." - at which point I let her know that I don't have a lot of cash on me (this was my feeble attempt to see if she would ever pull out her wallet) – she says no problem she can pay for her half. So we walk into this tiny sushi place, empty save for one other couple paying their check. I've worked in the service industry before so I know how annoying it is to keep an entire restaurant open for one couple.
Cognizant that we were most definitely the last people in the joint, I scarf down my food, guzzle my beer and sit there, patiently waiting. She takes her sweet-ass time. Sipping her beer, nibbling at her food – all the while, the wait staff are stacking chairs around us!! I see about 3 waiters at the kitchen door – all arms folded, waiting. I've been there before and am irate at the situation I have been forced into. She finally finishes her beer, we've had the check now for about 20 minutes and get this – she says she HAS NO CASH!
Slyly she asks me to pay and we'll go to an ATM across the way right after. Fine, I just want to get the hell out of this restaurant and never step foot in that place again. We head over to the ATM, she gets out her cash, I hold out my hand like a peddler and she walks right by! Unreal, right? It gets better. Now she wants a nightcap – we head over to a nearby bar, where she proceeds to order this froofy, expensive drink. She makes it point to order first and walks away (seems like she's done this before). I stare her down and order my beer – when the bartender tells me how much it is, I let her know. She turns around abruptly and says,
"I don't have any cash."
I say, "What do you mean? You just took money out at the ATM."
"Oh, that's for tomorrow – I have big plans."
"Well, I don't have any more cash, so I can't get this."
"Can't you use your credit card?"
"Uh, no."
At this point, as you can probably imagine, I am ENRAGED. I chug my beer and wait. She finishes, we go back to my place and all the sex I thought we were gonna have is thrown out the window. I throw her a pillow and let her know where the guest room is. Before she can say anything (she started to) I walk upstairs and shut the bedroom door – sans any type of "goodnight."
The next morning was funny – very awkward, very cold. The first thing I ask is what time her train is departing. She says something like "I thought you said you were driving me home?" I'm very dismissive about all this and mutter something basically letting her know that I may have said that last night but am not feeling well so I can just take you to the train station. We get in the car and now she's begging for me to stop so she can get a coffee and a bagel, "My stomach really hurts, all I want is some food." I tell her it's Sat and that all the deli's are closed (a blatant lie as we pass 3 or 4 deli's with neon OPEN signs!). She calls out a few of them as I fly by at 40 mph – "Oh no, that's not open." Ha ha…..anyway, I break down right in front of the train station, she runs in to get her food and drive her to the LIRR. She gets out of the car and as appears to say something but I didn't stay to listen. Mid-sentence, I reach over, close the door and drive off!
We go on a few more dates but no ass. The interesting thing I am starting to pick up is that she never, ever pays or even offers to pay. But my chivalry blinds me to this and I honestly don't mind so I let it pass.
So on a rainy Friday afternoon, she decides to invite herself to my summer house ("Uh, I'd love to get away this weekend - don't you have a house on the beach somewhere?"). I reluctantly say yes - she is beginning to bore me and talks and talks about nothing in particular. I'm working in the city until 5 and she's coming in from CT so we decide to meet at her sister's place in Brooklyn. She makes me wait for 30 mins on a pitch dark street in bushwick. She gets in, I am visibly annoyed, so she clams up for the rest of the drive (about 2 hours in a downpour).
We finally get into town around 8:30, I let her know that most places here close early (we were out eastern LI in the winter) so let's just grab something and bring it back to my house. She's adamant that all she wants is to, "Sit down at a nice restaurant and enjoy dinner." - at which point I let her know that I don't have a lot of cash on me (this was my feeble attempt to see if she would ever pull out her wallet) – she says no problem she can pay for her half. So we walk into this tiny sushi place, empty save for one other couple paying their check. I've worked in the service industry before so I know how annoying it is to keep an entire restaurant open for one couple.
Cognizant that we were most definitely the last people in the joint, I scarf down my food, guzzle my beer and sit there, patiently waiting. She takes her sweet-ass time. Sipping her beer, nibbling at her food – all the while, the wait staff are stacking chairs around us!! I see about 3 waiters at the kitchen door – all arms folded, waiting. I've been there before and am irate at the situation I have been forced into. She finally finishes her beer, we've had the check now for about 20 minutes and get this – she says she HAS NO CASH!
Slyly she asks me to pay and we'll go to an ATM across the way right after. Fine, I just want to get the hell out of this restaurant and never step foot in that place again. We head over to the ATM, she gets out her cash, I hold out my hand like a peddler and she walks right by! Unreal, right? It gets better. Now she wants a nightcap – we head over to a nearby bar, where she proceeds to order this froofy, expensive drink. She makes it point to order first and walks away (seems like she's done this before). I stare her down and order my beer – when the bartender tells me how much it is, I let her know. She turns around abruptly and says,
"I don't have any cash."
I say, "What do you mean? You just took money out at the ATM."
"Oh, that's for tomorrow – I have big plans."
"Well, I don't have any more cash, so I can't get this."
"Can't you use your credit card?"
"Uh, no."
At this point, as you can probably imagine, I am ENRAGED. I chug my beer and wait. She finishes, we go back to my place and all the sex I thought we were gonna have is thrown out the window. I throw her a pillow and let her know where the guest room is. Before she can say anything (she started to) I walk upstairs and shut the bedroom door – sans any type of "goodnight."
The next morning was funny – very awkward, very cold. The first thing I ask is what time her train is departing. She says something like "I thought you said you were driving me home?" I'm very dismissive about all this and mutter something basically letting her know that I may have said that last night but am not feeling well so I can just take you to the train station. We get in the car and now she's begging for me to stop so she can get a coffee and a bagel, "My stomach really hurts, all I want is some food." I tell her it's Sat and that all the deli's are closed (a blatant lie as we pass 3 or 4 deli's with neon OPEN signs!). She calls out a few of them as I fly by at 40 mph – "Oh no, that's not open." Ha ha…..anyway, I break down right in front of the train station, she runs in to get her food and drive her to the LIRR. She gets out of the car and as appears to say something but I didn't stay to listen. Mid-sentence, I reach over, close the door and drive off!
shila shila
shila shila from it's nucking futs
Memphis/1998/2-day outdoor music fest...
This was my 3rd or 4th date with a radio DJ. He was a bit of a rock-star-whore (always wanting to meet/hang-out/get autographs with musicians). His shift was 8pm-midnight. He asked me to spend the weekend with him. I said that I would.
Friday afternoon/evening was super-cool. Good music! Good drinks! Good times! He hosted his radio show live from the music fest. By the time the last band finished playing, it was almost 2am.
I *assumed* that we would leave at this point. But he said he wasn't going to leave bc he wanted to hang out with some of the musicians instead. He didn't have a backstage pass, so, he was just going to loiter until he saw someone. I tried to talk him into leaving, but it was useless. I was kinda upset bc I rode there with him, and now I felt stranded.
At some point, the fairgrounds told us that we had to get off the property. BUT, he still didn't want to go home and miss an opportunity to possibly meet a musician, so, he said we were going to hang-out on the public streets outside of the fairgrounds. Yes, I was really pissed-off now! We're in downtown Memphis at 3am!!!! It was dark and dirty and scary. If I had seen a cab, I would've flagged one down. If I had a cell phone, I would've called someone to come and get me! If I wasn't too d*mn scared to be by myself, I would've left on my own!!!!
So, I sat down on the streets and whined and pouted and cried. Yes, I did. I tried to tell him that it was too late to meet anyone that night, but he wasn't convinced. He said he also wanted to meet the ones that might show up very early for Saturday's shows too.
I was exhausted, so I did my best to prop myself up against a building and almost (but not quite) fell asleep a few times. It rained softly, so I was soaked and cold. And except for the 2 homeless guys I could see a couple blocks away, the streets were empty.
:o(
When downtown started waking up that morning, and people were finally showing up again and I was no longer scared to be by myself, I told him never to call me again, I left, and I called a cab to come get me and take me home.
Later, I listened to his radio show that night to see if he says anything about our "adventure". Well, he DID. And, he totally slammed ME!!! He identified me, described me as a b*tch, and totally ratted-me-out for everyone in town to hear. He made-up a bunch of stuff that made me sound like a very horrible person too. I was absolutely mortified.
Memphis/1998/2-day outdoor music fest...
This was my 3rd or 4th date with a radio DJ. He was a bit of a rock-star-whore (always wanting to meet/hang-out/get autographs with musicians). His shift was 8pm-midnight. He asked me to spend the weekend with him. I said that I would.
Friday afternoon/evening was super-cool. Good music! Good drinks! Good times! He hosted his radio show live from the music fest. By the time the last band finished playing, it was almost 2am.
I *assumed* that we would leave at this point. But he said he wasn't going to leave bc he wanted to hang out with some of the musicians instead. He didn't have a backstage pass, so, he was just going to loiter until he saw someone. I tried to talk him into leaving, but it was useless. I was kinda upset bc I rode there with him, and now I felt stranded.
At some point, the fairgrounds told us that we had to get off the property. BUT, he still didn't want to go home and miss an opportunity to possibly meet a musician, so, he said we were going to hang-out on the public streets outside of the fairgrounds. Yes, I was really pissed-off now! We're in downtown Memphis at 3am!!!! It was dark and dirty and scary. If I had seen a cab, I would've flagged one down. If I had a cell phone, I would've called someone to come and get me! If I wasn't too d*mn scared to be by myself, I would've left on my own!!!!
So, I sat down on the streets and whined and pouted and cried. Yes, I did. I tried to tell him that it was too late to meet anyone that night, but he wasn't convinced. He said he also wanted to meet the ones that might show up very early for Saturday's shows too.
I was exhausted, so I did my best to prop myself up against a building and almost (but not quite) fell asleep a few times. It rained softly, so I was soaked and cold. And except for the 2 homeless guys I could see a couple blocks away, the streets were empty.
:o(
When downtown started waking up that morning, and people were finally showing up again and I was no longer scared to be by myself, I told him never to call me again, I left, and I called a cab to come get me and take me home.
Later, I listened to his radio show that night to see if he says anything about our "adventure". Well, he DID. And, he totally slammed ME!!! He identified me, described me as a b*tch, and totally ratted-me-out for everyone in town to hear. He made-up a bunch of stuff that made me sound like a very horrible person too. I was absolutely mortified.
dallas, sf
"Valentine's Day, 1990 - NYC: I went out with some random girl that I met in one of my classes. Cute... not bright... perfect. So, being broke college students, we opt for an open bar party at some NYU bar called Peggy Sue Got Married. After 17 snakebites and some inappropriate and ill-advised groping at the bar - we decide that food is in order. We head out to some diner close to my apartment...
We cross the street towards the diner and she's about a half step behind me...next thing I hear is WHAM!!! a cab slams into her, she rolls off the hood and is laying on the street as the cab speeds off. A crowd gathers and somebody says that they got the license plate of the cab - I sober up instantly and run to the bar on the corner to call 911 (pre-cell phones - yes, I'm old). The police and ambulance arrive and we head out to St. Vincent's... I spend the next 6 hours in the emergency room getting the shit kicked outta me by her insane room-mate from Staten Island who, for some unknown reason thinks this is myfault... or at the very least, thinks that I should have been the one hit instead of her.
She ends up being fine - no broken bones, just some serious bruises and a nice cut on her forehead where skull met hood ornament.
Let's just say, it's a good thing she got hit by that cab or I would've had to sleep with her.
Probably my best Valentine's Day date ever."
We cross the street towards the diner and she's about a half step behind me...next thing I hear is WHAM!!! a cab slams into her, she rolls off the hood and is laying on the street as the cab speeds off. A crowd gathers and somebody says that they got the license plate of the cab - I sober up instantly and run to the bar on the corner to call 911 (pre-cell phones - yes, I'm old). The police and ambulance arrive and we head out to St. Vincent's... I spend the next 6 hours in the emergency room getting the shit kicked outta me by her insane room-mate from Staten Island who, for some unknown reason thinks this is myfault... or at the very least, thinks that I should have been the one hit instead of her.
She ends up being fine - no broken bones, just some serious bruises and a nice cut on her forehead where skull met hood ornament.
Let's just say, it's a good thing she got hit by that cab or I would've had to sleep with her.
Probably my best Valentine's Day date ever."
e, chicago
"I was 22 and in my last semester of college in Milwaukee when I met this guy at a bar. I believe his name was Steve. He seemed like a nice guy, kind of shy, in his late 20s. We exchanged phone numbers and after a week or so of talking on the phone we decided to go out on a date. The night we planned to go out I had an exam until about 8pm, so he offered to plan the entire evening.
I drove to his house at around 9pm. He met me outside and jumped in my car and asked me to first drive to the bar that he managed. It was a Monday or Tuesday night and the bar was closed, but he had keys and went in. He came out with a bottle of wine and a bag of pretzels. We then went back to his place. When we got to his place he told me he had kicked his roommates out for the night and that I should sit on the couch and close my eyes. After he left the room he came back and told me I could open my eyes. He handed me a rose and told me to follow the rose petals.
I proceeded to follow the rose petals up three flights of stairs to his bedroom. (The whole time I kept telling myself that I did not want to see what was at the end and to run out, not sure why I didn't.) I opened his bedroom door and it was lit up with candles and there was a blanket on the floor. The blanket was covered in rose petals, along with wine and the bag of pretzels.
He then had me sit so he could read me the poem he wrote for me. Before he read the poem he put on a Sarah McClachlan CD. He warned me that her music often made him cry, so if he started to tear up while he read the poem I shouldn't be alarmed. He had written me a poem about how we met at the bar. (touching.) I tried to tell myself that I wasn't giving him a chance and he was just trying to be nice. So I tried talking to him and asking him questions about himself.
He never asked me anything about myself - He said he "knew the curves of my face and that was all he needed to know." During our conversation I made the mistake of asking about old girlfriends and he started yelling about some girl that he took to a Sting concert and now he is "no longer allowed to talk to." (I didn't ask for qualification of that statement.) He also felt it was necessary to tell me that in a couple months he was going to be going to jail for awhile for drunk driving but "we would get through it."
When I left he told me "I was the one," but clearly not happy I wasn't spending the night. The next day I parked my car down the block and made my girlfriend run up and leave a note on his door telling him to never call me again. (Very mature I know) I actually never heard from him again! "
I drove to his house at around 9pm. He met me outside and jumped in my car and asked me to first drive to the bar that he managed. It was a Monday or Tuesday night and the bar was closed, but he had keys and went in. He came out with a bottle of wine and a bag of pretzels. We then went back to his place. When we got to his place he told me he had kicked his roommates out for the night and that I should sit on the couch and close my eyes. After he left the room he came back and told me I could open my eyes. He handed me a rose and told me to follow the rose petals.
I proceeded to follow the rose petals up three flights of stairs to his bedroom. (The whole time I kept telling myself that I did not want to see what was at the end and to run out, not sure why I didn't.) I opened his bedroom door and it was lit up with candles and there was a blanket on the floor. The blanket was covered in rose petals, along with wine and the bag of pretzels.
He then had me sit so he could read me the poem he wrote for me. Before he read the poem he put on a Sarah McClachlan CD. He warned me that her music often made him cry, so if he started to tear up while he read the poem I shouldn't be alarmed. He had written me a poem about how we met at the bar. (touching.) I tried to tell myself that I wasn't giving him a chance and he was just trying to be nice. So I tried talking to him and asking him questions about himself.
He never asked me anything about myself - He said he "knew the curves of my face and that was all he needed to know." During our conversation I made the mistake of asking about old girlfriends and he started yelling about some girl that he took to a Sting concert and now he is "no longer allowed to talk to." (I didn't ask for qualification of that statement.) He also felt it was necessary to tell me that in a couple months he was going to be going to jail for awhile for drunk driving but "we would get through it."
When I left he told me "I was the one," but clearly not happy I wasn't spending the night. The next day I parked my car down the block and made my girlfriend run up and leave a note on his door telling him to never call me again. (Very mature I know) I actually never heard from him again! "
tim, sf
I don't remember her name, but for the sake of the story I will call her Slidejaw because if you paid attention you could see at the end of her sentences she would slide her lower jaw slightly to one side.
It was initially a quaint nuance that stirred very strong desires in me to tie her to furniture or invent contests that involved kissing... later it just became a place I wanted to aim for with my fist.
We worked together so there was alot of flirting and accidental touching prior to the one date we went on, the run-up felt promising and she was naughty enough in passing without that whole "restraining order" vibe some of them have as you peel the onion.
I took her to a standard Midwestern Italian restaurant. The type of place you get a tiny bowl of cold spaghetti covered in ketchup marinara with every meal. We ordered and made stilted small talk since this was really the first time we had talked at length rather than just whispered at the copy machine. Right away I could tell I was in trouble and had badly misjudged the potential (still working on this skill by the way). I get half a drink in her and she begins to relax and share her feeling about her mother. She hated her mother. Her mother had ruined her. Her mother was in league with Satan. She had developed long term mental tortures to undermine Slidejaws self esteem from conception. The resentment was deep, bitter, the wound weeping and wide open. Slidejaw seemed to grow taller in her chair as she shared these tales of a crazy disaster mom. Her chin rising higher, her voice become more animated, emotional, the jaw slicing to the left... she was just gaining momentum as the salads were delivered. When the salad was placed in front of her she froze. Her eyes didn't come off the salad bowl. Fork suspended in space, eyes down, jaw pointed to Cleveland...
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Croutons" she says.
"Yea? Salad enhancement, " I say.
"You don't understand, my mother almost choked to death on a crouton once! Croutons are not allowed in my home! We HATE croutons!"
I could see she had similar feelings for croutons as she did for her disaster mom, but in hindsight this might have been a meeting point for the two of them. Bonding over their crushing bitterness towards salad accouterments. She placed a napkin next to the bowl and removed the croutons one and a time, pinching each one between thumb and index finger, all other fingers splayed high to avoid any accidental crumb transfer from the horrid task. The napkin was rolled tight and handed to the startled waitress at arms length as if Slidejaw was trying to avoid the stench of the poor croutons. I asked her why she didn't request a salad without croutons if she hated them so much. Her replay was sharp and indignant.
"How was I suppose to know they would be bringing my salad buried in croutons?"
And this is where I knew I was in real trouble. Anyone who doesn't understand croutons are coming on an iceberg lettuce salad in any restaurant where the waitresses are 50-ish and wearing sensible stride rite shoes is way way down in the denial mine. The canary is dead and the all the lanterns are out of oil deep down in that hole. She was never able to get past this moment. She took it out on the waitress, she took it out on me in small, quiet last-word comments. The one I do remember is her saying, "I can see how you would think that..." after I had shared some opinion she obviously disagreed with.
The date was suppose to be dinner and a movie. As I worked my way through a pretty fillet as thick as a first aid kit she ranted. That jaw clicking over like a typewriter carriage. I dug deep to try and figure out who to get this crazy bitch into my car and onto her mothers lawn as quickly as possible but I was blank with good ideas so we ended up going to the movie after all.
We took our seats and she suddenly sat upright and was looking at my lap. I look down and there was no pee stain and I hadn't strategically arranged it so my cock was laying out so I was in new territory, I had no idea what the problem was.
"What's wrong?' I ask.
"Are you really going to sit like that?" she asks.
My legs were crossed at the knee. Not the side-calf-across-the-knee, but the dad style gentle men's leg cross. "
You're sitting like a faggot" she said, her voice biting.
I have no idea why I drag her really nice ass out of there, but instead I sat there my heart racing like there was a fist fight standing at my toe-tips. I was nothing but blind red rage and breathing with my teeth together. I never even verbally responded. I just sat there in awe... stewing. Who has the audacity to judge someones choice of leg crossing options? What sort of platform are you standing on when you make that assessment? It took me until to the first plot point of the movie to calm down enough to try and follow the movie. In the end she followed me to my car three stride behind me. I played the radio too loud and once we arrived at her curb I placed my right arm across the backs of the seats, looked away from her, out the window on my side and simply said, "Later..." When I heard the door shut I drove away. I never saw her eyes again. We never really spoke again, not that night or at work ever again.
I love a good crouton by the way, fucking brilliant what they are doing with salads these days...
It was initially a quaint nuance that stirred very strong desires in me to tie her to furniture or invent contests that involved kissing... later it just became a place I wanted to aim for with my fist.
We worked together so there was alot of flirting and accidental touching prior to the one date we went on, the run-up felt promising and she was naughty enough in passing without that whole "restraining order" vibe some of them have as you peel the onion.
I took her to a standard Midwestern Italian restaurant. The type of place you get a tiny bowl of cold spaghetti covered in ketchup marinara with every meal. We ordered and made stilted small talk since this was really the first time we had talked at length rather than just whispered at the copy machine. Right away I could tell I was in trouble and had badly misjudged the potential (still working on this skill by the way). I get half a drink in her and she begins to relax and share her feeling about her mother. She hated her mother. Her mother had ruined her. Her mother was in league with Satan. She had developed long term mental tortures to undermine Slidejaws self esteem from conception. The resentment was deep, bitter, the wound weeping and wide open. Slidejaw seemed to grow taller in her chair as she shared these tales of a crazy disaster mom. Her chin rising higher, her voice become more animated, emotional, the jaw slicing to the left... she was just gaining momentum as the salads were delivered. When the salad was placed in front of her she froze. Her eyes didn't come off the salad bowl. Fork suspended in space, eyes down, jaw pointed to Cleveland...
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Croutons" she says.
"Yea? Salad enhancement, " I say.
"You don't understand, my mother almost choked to death on a crouton once! Croutons are not allowed in my home! We HATE croutons!"
I could see she had similar feelings for croutons as she did for her disaster mom, but in hindsight this might have been a meeting point for the two of them. Bonding over their crushing bitterness towards salad accouterments. She placed a napkin next to the bowl and removed the croutons one and a time, pinching each one between thumb and index finger, all other fingers splayed high to avoid any accidental crumb transfer from the horrid task. The napkin was rolled tight and handed to the startled waitress at arms length as if Slidejaw was trying to avoid the stench of the poor croutons. I asked her why she didn't request a salad without croutons if she hated them so much. Her replay was sharp and indignant.
"How was I suppose to know they would be bringing my salad buried in croutons?"
And this is where I knew I was in real trouble. Anyone who doesn't understand croutons are coming on an iceberg lettuce salad in any restaurant where the waitresses are 50-ish and wearing sensible stride rite shoes is way way down in the denial mine. The canary is dead and the all the lanterns are out of oil deep down in that hole. She was never able to get past this moment. She took it out on the waitress, she took it out on me in small, quiet last-word comments. The one I do remember is her saying, "I can see how you would think that..." after I had shared some opinion she obviously disagreed with.
The date was suppose to be dinner and a movie. As I worked my way through a pretty fillet as thick as a first aid kit she ranted. That jaw clicking over like a typewriter carriage. I dug deep to try and figure out who to get this crazy bitch into my car and onto her mothers lawn as quickly as possible but I was blank with good ideas so we ended up going to the movie after all.
We took our seats and she suddenly sat upright and was looking at my lap. I look down and there was no pee stain and I hadn't strategically arranged it so my cock was laying out so I was in new territory, I had no idea what the problem was.
"What's wrong?' I ask.
"Are you really going to sit like that?" she asks.
My legs were crossed at the knee. Not the side-calf-across-the-knee, but the dad style gentle men's leg cross. "
You're sitting like a faggot" she said, her voice biting.
I have no idea why I drag her really nice ass out of there, but instead I sat there my heart racing like there was a fist fight standing at my toe-tips. I was nothing but blind red rage and breathing with my teeth together. I never even verbally responded. I just sat there in awe... stewing. Who has the audacity to judge someones choice of leg crossing options? What sort of platform are you standing on when you make that assessment? It took me until to the first plot point of the movie to calm down enough to try and follow the movie. In the end she followed me to my car three stride behind me. I played the radio too loud and once we arrived at her curb I placed my right arm across the backs of the seats, looked away from her, out the window on my side and simply said, "Later..." When I heard the door shut I drove away. I never saw her eyes again. We never really spoke again, not that night or at work ever again.
I love a good crouton by the way, fucking brilliant what they are doing with salads these days...
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