Don’t worry—we’re not breaking up, we’re just taking a break. Awful First Dates will be back mid-Jan. with a site redesign and tons more cringe-worthy dating mishaps. Until then, happy holidays…and look out for weirdos under the mistletoe.
At my favorite bar, I kept catching this guy looking at me. Finally one night he introduced himself. Then he said, “I’m not interested in playing games. I just want to get to know a pretty girl—is that so wrong?” He came across as super sweet and earnest, if a little tipsy—he said drinking helped with his shyness. It was super flattering, because he really seemed excited about going out with me. But then a week went by, and he never called. I figured we’d just catch each other at the bar. And we did. He hobbled over, blitzed out of his mind, and reintroduced himself with the same damn speech.
After hitting it off over dinner and drinks, we went back to his place and started some innocent kissing on the couch. After a few minutes, he got up and said he had to go to the restroom. When he came out and sat back down on the couch, I saw he’d brought with him a tube of KY.
He wasn’t exactly perfect—he’d arranged our date via text message, suggested we go to Chili’s, and showed up 10 minute late. But within the first five minutes of conversation, he felt superior enough to nit-pick everything I said. He insulted my choice of wine (“You might as well order grape juice if you’re going to order white”), my eating habits (“You don’t eat meat but you do eat fish? That just doesn’t make sense”). To top it all off, he even managed to criticize the hospital where I volunteer (“My friend had an AWFUL experience there”). I wanted to tell him I was having an awful experience here.
He said he was going to spend the summer making a solo journey from Pittsburgh to the bottom tip of South America…on his bike. When I asked if the rain forest would at all hinder his plans, he said, in a totally serious Zen-master voice, “There are paths.”
I was happy to meet my set-up: tall, handsome, and passionate about desserts. He was opening his own frozen yogurt store in a few weeks and suggested we get fro-yo at a busy competitor’s place. Once we got inside, he completely ignored me, hounding the other customers in line about why they chose this place, their flavor preferences, and even handed strangers his business cards and saying they should come to him instead. The only time he talked to me was to analyze my thoughts on their topping offerings.
We bonded over our family lives and senses of humor. he was funny and relaxed—until I mentioned that I work in publishing. He picked up his drink, pushed back his chair, put up his feet, and proceeded to give me a grandfatherly lecture about how books and magazines were going out of business and I likely wouldn’t have a job this time next year.
Things were going well—conversation was easy and we had a lot in common. I didn’t realize how much, though, until he told me his rather unusual last name, and I asked him if he knew a woman in the city who had the same last name—who turned out to be his sister. And my gynecologist. Who recently treated me for herpes.
After a dinner heavy on pork belly, we went to a tequila bar, and two drinks in, my stomach started doing flips. I politely told my date that I wasn’t feeling well (not mentioning specifics) and needed to head home. Ever the empathetic guy, he told me not to worry—he’d had diarrhea while on dates before.
I was totally smitten when he started listing the things he liked about me—my smile, my glasses. Then he goes, “The only bad thing is that your fingers are fat.”
