The Sunday after I joined a popular free dating site, I was playing through Red Dead Redemption for the second time. I was dressed in a striped shirt and plaid pajama pants and the smudged remnants of yesterday's makeup. Needless to say, I was feeling sexy.
So of course it came as no surprise when I got an offer for a date that afternoon from a dude I'd never even chatted with. He wanted me to know he had a boat. His pictures were fuzzy; he clearly didn't know how to use the rotate function when editing pictures. I got a vague impression of a happy rhinoceros wearing sunglasses. Laughably, he invited me to go see the Rivercats since the sun was shining. I declined to mention that I hate both sports and sunlight, but I suggested an alternate location and time for coffee and he agreed.
With nothing better to do, and having never been on a blind date before, I was committed to meeting the Nautical Rhinoceros. Dutifully, I took a shower and put on makeup, matching clothes, and heels. I went to the coffee shop we'd agreed upon and waited with my Kindle and a latte.
He didn't show up. That was fine. I love a good latte and a read, and I was into this for the new experience more than any actual interest in the Nautical Rhinoceros.
On my way home, I got a call from the man himself, apologizing for missing me. He had some sort of business blah blah boring boat (I stopped listening.) Anyway, he wanted to meet me on Garden Highway at a Chevy's. I thought, "Whatever," and turned around.
He was late to our second scheduled meeting that day because he was seeing a man about a horse or something. He looked like an aging dude-brah, and I was already inclined to dislike him, but this point I was hungry and food was in the near future. As we walked toward the restaurant it occurred to me that men don't have the luxury of referring to themselves in a positive light as "curvy."
He said, "I see you've got the whole freckles thing going on, I like it."
I've never appreciated this compliment because it seems like
negging. I wanted to say, "Yes, my skin is genetically predisposed to produce excess melanin in localized patches when exposed to prolonged sunlight." What I said was, "Yes. Thanks. I'm Scottish."
With that auspicious start, we were seated and our waiter brought us chips and salsa, which I didn't eat. There is no way to maintain gravitas while eating chips and salsa and I hate showing weakness to strangers. He dug right in, though, and soon had a big chunk of chip on his upper lip, which I did not point out. When our food finally came, he pointed out how many calories were in my flautas. Politeness won out and I refrained from pointing out that he wasn't precisely a slip of a thing, himself.
It got worse from there. He felt like it was first date appropriate to ask a lot of very personal questions, to which I replied in monosyllables and let him think what he wanted. I enjoyed the hell out of my fattening flautas. Since our waiter was hot, I left him a tip that the Nautical Rhinoceros pointed out was too much. I explained I liked to tip well.
He asked the waiter for scratchers, which are some kind of lottery coupon for free food in the restaurant redeemable at your next visit. The hot waiter brought two, and the Nautical Rhinoceros took both, even though we had gone Dutch on our meal.
Finally--finally--the meal was over. He was inclined to sit and have a leisurely talk until I got my purse and stood up. In the parking lot, he told me to look over the river and tell him which was my favorite boat. I picked a two-story yacht, which was much nicer than his trawler. He went on to describe boating as a lifestyle and then to tell me everything I should do to make my car better.
I said I had to go and he went in for a hug. I just wanted to leave, so I hugged him for about a second and then disengaged. He kept hugging me as I stood there with my arms dead at my sides and only stopped when I stepped back.
With that, my first (and last) blind date was over. For some reason, I have not heard from the Nautucal Rhinoceros since that one magical day.
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