Saturday, April 9, 2011

Red Riding Hood and the Worst Date Ever!

At first the guy seemed nice and I wanted to give him the best chance possible, but toward the end of the day, I wished I could throw him down a rocky hill!

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So, he wasn't a dork like the "winner" in this picture.  He didn't have glasses or a nose bigger than a lemon.  He was actually quite good looking, with nice deep eyes, wide shoulders and perfect teeth.  When he asked me out, I was excited.  That was before we went on the date of doom.

I wore a nice satin number.  I thought it looked all right and it was a big deal because I NEVER wore dresses.  We walked into the restaurant and the first thing that male model said was, "You're the fourth girl I've taken here this month, but you sure are the prettiest."

That was a step toward the dark side.  Sure he'd said something nice--tainted a good comment with a Satanic death blow.  Why in the heck would he take four girls to the same place?  Did it go so well the first three times, he thought he'd go for four in a row.  Good luck with that!  It's a good thing I didn't shave past my knees!

The food came and I ate a ton because that's who I am.  He watched as I ate--staring dumbfounded.  "For such a skinny thing, you sure do eat like a man."

I put my fork down and glared into his nice eyes.  Like a man?  A thing that ate like a man!  That's when I really started disliking him.  Did he think I was Little Red Riding Hood?  Would we sit there talking about how skinny I was, how big my mouth was, the fact that I ate like a horse!

My what skinny legs you have . . .

The better to kick you with.

My what big lips you have . . .

The better to dump you with!

We went to a picture booth after that.  Then, that guy who loved making rude comments, decided we should have our picture taken together.

"Why?" I asked.

"You're so much fun, I want to have a picture of us in my wallet."

Really?  How was he having fun anyway?  I mean, I was having a terrible time and he really wanted to put that in his wallet?  The idea was a crime in itself.  You don't take picture booth photos with someone unless you're going to walk toward the alter.

"I don't know," I said, not wanting to walk ANYWHERE with him.

"Come on!  I said I want a picture with you."

I stepped back.

"Ummm . . ."  He cleared his throat.  "Please?"

"O-kay," I nervously clutched the hem of my dress and walked into the booth.  "I guess."  It felt yucky being so close to a jerk--something I'd never done.  He had me sit on his lap and I wanted to punch him in the nose since it was so close to my ear. 

"Smile," he said in a wicked tone.  I got up after that even though the camera wasn't done flashing.  It seemed weird anyway, especially since my first kiss was in a picture booth.  I didn't want to think about kissing the big bad wolf jerk!

When the pictures shot by the metal bars in the machine, the guy grabbed them and smiled.  "Finally. Someone that makes me look even better."

I had no idea what that creep meant.  Was it that I was so ugly I made him shine like Zeus? I decided that's what he meant.  I snatched the strip of pictures from him.  The first two were of us together, the third was of my butt as I left and the last ones were of him smiling very close to the camera.

"Nice butt," he pointed to the picture.

I rolled my eyes and tried thinking of something to take his eyes from my black and white butt.  "But my nose looks big in this first one," I lied.

He took the pictures from me.  "Oh my God, you're right."

I hate it when people take the Lord's name in vain!  It proved, he was walking down a slippery slope.  "I am?  Wait, you think my nose looks big?"

I hadn't meant it, not at all.  I'd just wanted him to quit staring at my satin butt, but now he was agreeing with my big nose comment?  Seriously, was he the offspring of Mr. Bean?

"No, you're totally right."  He put his hand to the side of his mouth.  "But I've realized that sometimes, even if you notice something like that, it's better if you don't say anything.  You'd be surprised what people don't notice."  He smiled and leaned down.  "I mean, I have something terribly wrong, but I haven't told you and I bet you haven't noticed." 

"Like . . . what?"  I squinted and looked at all of his features.

"I don't know.  I shouldn't tell you, but you do seem so nice.  And as if you have any room to judge--who does right?"  He snorted, actually snorted and I thought his biggest flaw WAS NOT his face!  "Fine, I'll tell you, but you can't tell a soul.  Promise?"

I nodded as if making the biggest pact in history.  I wondered if he had a growth, a tumor, something terrible that would make me shudder.

"I have," he whispered, "a . . . big . . ."

I leaned closer, hanging onto every word and that jerk tried to pull me in for a kiss!

I fumed with hatred.  "Did you seriously just try to kiss me?"  His mouth had grazed my forehead before getting lost in my hair.

"Man, you're flighty.  I like flighty . . . I can do flighty."

"You can do, flighty?"  I turned away and scrubbed my knuckles against the place his lips had touched my face.

"Don't you wanna known what my fatal flaw is?"

"I already know it," I whispered as he appeared in front of me.  "Fine, what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."  He laughed and punched me in the arm.  "That's the funny thing.  Perfection can be such a curse!"


After he confessed his "awesomeness," we went to a movie--that he picked.  We got the snack--that he wanted.  We sat--where he wanted and it got worse and worse.

A couple in front of us needed to get a room.  "Kind of makes you wanna sit a bit closer to me, doesn't it?" my date asked as he ogled the people instead of the movie.

I turned to my side and made a gagging noise.  That's when some junior high kids started pelting us with popcorn.  One stuck in my hair and I glared at my date.

"Well, don't look at me," he said, laughing until a piece hit him too.  His mouth flew open as he gasped like a drag queen.  "Aren't you going to do something?  They just hit me with popcorn!"

"What?  What do you want me to do?"  I pulled the popcorn out of my hair and actually threw it at my date's chest.  "If you want something done, then do it yourself, Mr. Perfection!"

"Me?  You're the girl."

"So?"

"So, God made you to cook, clean . . . and stand up for your man."

"You ARE NOT my man, but you're right.  It is about time I stood up for someone . . . MYSELF!"  I got up from the theater and left.  The idiot guy actually followed me until we stood outside of the theater.  My dress fluttered like the edges of a stingray.  I looked over the rocky hill I stood on, and kicked a rock overboard.  The yellowed theater rested at my back and I breathed in the icy night air.

"Elisa, stop.  What did I do wrong?  I've been wanting to ask you out for months."

"You really want to know?"

He nodded, still clutching the bag of popcorn.  He stuffed a piece into his mouth, and his eyes never left my face.

"Well, you compared me to other girls.  You compared me to a man.  You tried kissing me after saying I had a big nose!  Then you actually wanted me to stand up for you!"

"Oh," he smiled.  "Is that all?  You sure are cute when you're mad."

That was enough!  It takes a lot to make me mad, but once I blow, there's no going back.  I grabbed the popcorn bag from his hands and threw it on the ground.  "You're a jerk!  And there is something wrong with your face.  The problem is that it belongs--to you.  Take me home!"

I know it's shocking, but we didn't go out ever again.  That poor guy, was I too hard on him? 

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What's the worst date you've ever been on?