Never Google at the Dinner Table
There are certain things that it's just not appropriate to do on a dinner date. We'll call this guy Mark and boy do I have a story for you.
Mark was handsome in a hawkish kind of way. He was angular, with that long, aquiline nose and cheekbones that could cut glass. He had this mass of very dark, slightly wavy hair and these piercing blue eyes. He was gorgeous in just the kind of way I like my men to be gorgeous. You know, like this guy that everyone loves today, but not as soft around the eyes. He looked like a predator. Gods, it was sexy. Of course, what would a guy like that do for a living? He's a lawyer. The predator look was no accident.
He was my age and tall. He was a runner. I do love a fellow runner. I agreed to go out with him pretty rapidly. We did not exchange numbers before we met. Ironically, that really makes me more comfortable. I don't want to give a guy my number before I know where he falls on the crazy scale; you know, from one to Ted Bundy.
I dressed carefully. He was a nice 6', but I erred on the side of caution because you should never trust a lawyer. I wore a pink pleated dress and chocolate mid-calf lace up boots with that olive jacket that makes my soul sing. I let my crazy hair curl and tucked it back in a few pins so it would fall around my face romantically. Curls are always a little romantic, whether you mean them to be or not.
We opted for tapas and he came to a local place near me. I was early, as usual and when he walked in, he looked like a hawk. Narrow and sharp and shrewd. His presence set me on edge. It's an odd feeling for me to be unsettled by anyone in that way.
He ordered a beer and I ordered a glass of Malbec, I do love my Malbecs. We nibbled our dinners and talked about work and life. He had a beautiful smile, but his laugh was so easy it sounded artificial. It looked as if he had to think about it for a split second before he actually did it. Never trust someone who doesn't know how to laugh.
Well, we drank and we ate and we talked. Then he did something. I guess it was better than doing it when I wasn't looking. He googled me. He googled me at dinner. He was looking for my mug shot. Thank the gods he didn't find it. It was an unflattering night for me. He did find every Facebook profile pic of me for the past ten years. Even the not good ones. He said that I looked like a different person in them all. I guess I do look different.
The point is, he did it at the table! At dinner! We're in the south, dude, you don't do this shit. I kind of laughed it off and let it happen, but I was really offended. As if I don't google every one of my dates before I let them take me out. I still don't do it at the table! That's just rude. It felt like he was trying to catch me in some sort of lie. Well, if you knew me, you'd know that I don't bother with that shit. I am an open book for a reason - so that I don't have to come up with a story or look like I've got something to hide.
After dinner was over, he paid. I can't quite get over how men think they have to pay. I mean, I'm doing fine. I can pay for the occasional dinner. I'd be irritated if he didn't at least offer, but I can totally handle that sometimes. Okay, that side rant is over.
He walked me to my car (what a gentleman) and then that crazy, end-of-date thing happened. He totally began pawing me. I kept gently disentangling myself and drawing away. I'm not a never kiss on a first date kind of girl, but he started to make me uncomfortable. I was always in control of the situation, like I am these days. I had pepper spray in my left hand and I'm pretty sure I could have taken his skinny ass if I needed to. So we kissed and I kept shutting him down. I'm not sure where he thought the night was going, but it certainly was not going back to my bed.
Finally, I managed to escape him and he promised to get back with me. We didn't exchange numbers and he essentially said "don't call me, I'll call you." He never got back with me. I'm almost relieved because he freaked me out a little and I didn't really like him. I guess I should chock it up to a lesson learned. Never underestimate your first instinct.
For next week, we'll have a good story, given that something terrible doesn't happen to the extreme marathoner who called me "mesmerizing".
Mark was handsome in a hawkish kind of way. He was angular, with that long, aquiline nose and cheekbones that could cut glass. He had this mass of very dark, slightly wavy hair and these piercing blue eyes. He was gorgeous in just the kind of way I like my men to be gorgeous. You know, like this guy that everyone loves today, but not as soft around the eyes. He looked like a predator. Gods, it was sexy. Of course, what would a guy like that do for a living? He's a lawyer. The predator look was no accident.
He was my age and tall. He was a runner. I do love a fellow runner. I agreed to go out with him pretty rapidly. We did not exchange numbers before we met. Ironically, that really makes me more comfortable. I don't want to give a guy my number before I know where he falls on the crazy scale; you know, from one to Ted Bundy.
I dressed carefully. He was a nice 6', but I erred on the side of caution because you should never trust a lawyer. I wore a pink pleated dress and chocolate mid-calf lace up boots with that olive jacket that makes my soul sing. I let my crazy hair curl and tucked it back in a few pins so it would fall around my face romantically. Curls are always a little romantic, whether you mean them to be or not.
We opted for tapas and he came to a local place near me. I was early, as usual and when he walked in, he looked like a hawk. Narrow and sharp and shrewd. His presence set me on edge. It's an odd feeling for me to be unsettled by anyone in that way.
He ordered a beer and I ordered a glass of Malbec, I do love my Malbecs. We nibbled our dinners and talked about work and life. He had a beautiful smile, but his laugh was so easy it sounded artificial. It looked as if he had to think about it for a split second before he actually did it. Never trust someone who doesn't know how to laugh.
Well, we drank and we ate and we talked. Then he did something. I guess it was better than doing it when I wasn't looking. He googled me. He googled me at dinner. He was looking for my mug shot. Thank the gods he didn't find it. It was an unflattering night for me. He did find every Facebook profile pic of me for the past ten years. Even the not good ones. He said that I looked like a different person in them all. I guess I do look different.
The point is, he did it at the table! At dinner! We're in the south, dude, you don't do this shit. I kind of laughed it off and let it happen, but I was really offended. As if I don't google every one of my dates before I let them take me out. I still don't do it at the table! That's just rude. It felt like he was trying to catch me in some sort of lie. Well, if you knew me, you'd know that I don't bother with that shit. I am an open book for a reason - so that I don't have to come up with a story or look like I've got something to hide.
After dinner was over, he paid. I can't quite get over how men think they have to pay. I mean, I'm doing fine. I can pay for the occasional dinner. I'd be irritated if he didn't at least offer, but I can totally handle that sometimes. Okay, that side rant is over.
He walked me to my car (what a gentleman) and then that crazy, end-of-date thing happened. He totally began pawing me. I kept gently disentangling myself and drawing away. I'm not a never kiss on a first date kind of girl, but he started to make me uncomfortable. I was always in control of the situation, like I am these days. I had pepper spray in my left hand and I'm pretty sure I could have taken his skinny ass if I needed to. So we kissed and I kept shutting him down. I'm not sure where he thought the night was going, but it certainly was not going back to my bed.
Finally, I managed to escape him and he promised to get back with me. We didn't exchange numbers and he essentially said "don't call me, I'll call you." He never got back with me. I'm almost relieved because he freaked me out a little and I didn't really like him. I guess I should chock it up to a lesson learned. Never underestimate your first instinct.
For next week, we'll have a good story, given that something terrible doesn't happen to the extreme marathoner who called me "mesmerizing".
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