Her phone rang and she dove for her purse and unzipped it in record time. “No, he’s not here. I know, it’s fine. Really. If he doesn’t come, I go to your house for drinks. Honestly, I’m fine. Promise.” Click. She hung up, dropped her phone in her purse, and sighed a sigh I empathetically knew.
She was desperately sad. And desperately alone. And I desperately felt her pain. The inner Patty Stanger in me want to shake her by the shoulders and say, “I FEEL YOU! I know what you’re going through. But hang on, sister! He’s out there.”
You know you’re desperate when the cheer coach from high school who had a son three years younger than you sees you at the gym ten years after graduation and sets you up via facebook with her son—and you accept.
Yup, that really happened. Cue a pathetic love song and hand me a sugary dessert, because it was a bad as it sounds.
It had been months since I had gone on a date so I blame my acceptance of the date on the fact he was a professional athlete and I had given up dating guys from church.
It didn’t hurt that after stalking his facebook profile I discovered he was still tall, light eyed, and had an athlete’s body. So I accepted. Then called all my friends to convince me that it was a good decision because after sending the email, I felt like a Cougar. A fat, Cougar who accepted a date via facebook because of someone’s mother.
After three phone calls and three successful talks walking me off the ledge, I went to the gym to burn off twenty pounds of baby fat I hadn’t lost in the past twenty years. Then I had to buy a new top. Yes, I had to. I stared at a closet full of clothes, but swore I had nothing to wear… at least nothing worthy of a date with a professional athlete.
I almost opted to wear fake eyelashes, but decided against it because high heels, a ruffled top, and big hair paired with fake lashes would’ve made me look like a night walker, not a potential mate.
He said we should meet at the restaurant because his mom said it would be better. Um, okay. Sure. When I asked why he chose the restaurant, he said it was his mom’s favorite restaurant. Wow, ok. We continued to talk about life since high school and—oddly enough—his mom.
The server came by to take our order and give recommendations. He looked at me with a gaping mouth in complete silence. Taken off guard, I ordered grilled artichoke with the dressing on the side and finished my order with water with a wedge of lemon.
The waiter looked at him and asked what he wanted to drink. [Awkward pause.] My date looked at me. [Awkward pause.] “Just make that two waters,” I casually said like ordering for this grown man is totally the norm. I encouraged him to pick out dinner and place the order when the waiter came by. I was seeing a trend I was determined to break.
I. Was. Not. Going. To. Be. His. Mother.
I knew there would be no second date, so I used this at a Patty-teaching opportunity. 1. Talk about his dreams. 2. Never bring up his mother. 3. Let him order the food [even though it was heinously carnivorous]. 4. Encourage him to start picking his own dates.
I slipped into my car and sighed a desperate sigh. A desperately alone sigh. A sad sigh. A sigh like the girl sitting at Starbucks waiting for a man who never showed up to see her perfectly straight hair and glossed lips.
Do you have blind date stories? Share them. We all need a good laugh 🙂
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