My Dates from HELL

Over the past year and a half I’ve entertained my boyfriend with tales of past dates gone terribly wrong. Before that I humored friends and even sometimes family with the nightmares. I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I should document them.

So, you are my guinea pigs. My plan is to post a new date horror every week, but with my commitment-phobia and procrastination issues, I’m not sure if I’ll be consistent. Plus, though I do have my fair share of hellish date stories, we all know they can’t go on forever. I hope you find them entertaining!


Hellish Date #1 – Mr. Harry NoManners

Go ahead and get some popcorn so you can settle in. It’s gonna be a long one…

Due to the fact that some of my friends read my blog, I shall call my first victim Harry NoManners. Harry because there wasn’t an inch of body that didn’t have hair on it – of course other than the parts I DID NOT SEE because I am not a SLUTWHORE. And NoManners I think speaks for itself.

I knew Harry back in high school and ran into him a couple years ago. He asked me on a date and I thought, What the hell.

Harry took me to a nice restaurant with about an hour wait. We settled into the bar, and after ordering a lemon drop martini for me and a bottle of wine for him, he closed the tab. Strike #1.

Now, before you go judging me, let me tell you that he was all too eager to tell me the reason why he closed the tab out. “Because those martinis are pricy,” even though he turned his nose up at my first choice of beer. And the reason for the entire bottle of wine? It was less expensive by the bottle and he planned on bringing the bottle to the table with us.

Less than an hour later we are seated at a table and checking out the goods on the menu. I have decided to brush off the bar scene and try to enjoy the date. Harry looks up from his menu and says “This looks good: Grilled Pork with Beef Steak Tomatoes” and I frown. I tell him I don’t like tomatoes and say that the Caesar salad looks good, I think I’ll get that. He then says “Let’s share the Grilled Pork and Beef Steak Tomato plate,” to which I reply “I’d rather not, I don’t like tomatoes.” (Are you counting? Second time in 1 minute that I’ve told him this. Strike #2. Not listening.)

The waiter comes up to the table and asks for our order. Harry says we’re good on drinks and would like to share the Grilled Pork Dish with the Beef Steak Tomatoes.

*crickets*

The waiter looks at him like Oh I bet you’re a good tipper! and I’m feeling his pain. This is a nice restaurant. If you want to share a dish, go to Chili’s or Applebee’s and split the towering nachos for crying out loud.

The waiter looks at me and I say “If my date doesn’t mind, I’d like the chicken Caesar, seeing as I don’t like tomatoes,” and I hand him my menu. When the waiter walks away seemingly pleased that his entire table isn’t filled with cheap asses, my date says “I didn’t know you don’t like tomatoes.”
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For some reason I accept other meetings with this man, and on the 3rd occasion I tell him to come to my apartment where my roommate can be an attendee on what is sure to be an entertaining night. Our topics of conversations land all over the map. During a small silence, my roomie asks what I plan to give my mother for her birthday. Before I can answer, Harry speaks up:

Harry: “I always give my mother jewelry.”
Roomie and I: “Awww. That’s so sweet.”
Clearly we are fools.
Harry: “Yeah well I figure, if I give my mother jewelry on birthdays, Christmas, and Mother’s Days, I’ll eventually inherit the stuff I give her. I think of it as an investment.”

I’m not kidding. And it doesn’t get any better….
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The last “date” was the icing on the cake. I had already decided that I would have the talk with him, you know, the whole we’re-better-off-as-friends spill. He says he wants to cook dinner for me at his place. I give him a courtesy call on the way to see if he needs me to pick anything up. I’m walking down the wine aisle thinking I’ll pick up a merlot when he replies “Um, yeah actually I could. Can you pick up some boneless skinless chicken?” I come to a dead stop mid-aisle. Who invites someone over to cook them dinner and asks them to bring the main ingredient? I know I asked but COME ON.

I’m back on the road and going by his directions. By the time I get into his area of town – a 35 minute drive – it’s dark. I turn down the road he lives on, which is a creepy, twisty gravel road. 45 minutes later I turn into his drive.

Harry opens the door in a pair of cut off sweats and his work t-shirt. This is the same friggin blue t-shirt I’ve seen him in 5 out of the 6 times we’ve hung out together. He seems frazzled as he opens the door and I wonder if it’s over the dinner he’s preparing.

I enter the kitchen with the wine and chicken and immediately ask for a bottle opener. As he’s looking for it I take a quick scan of the kitchen. There are no pots or pans, or any sign of dinner. Maybe he was waiting on the chicken?

He takes the bottle opener and pours himself a glass of wine and walks off. Shaking my head, I reach over and pour myself a glass. Then he turns to me, standing before his pantry and says “What do you want for dinner?”

At this point I’m so over it I really wouldn’t feel bad walking out the house (and bringing the wine with me). I shrug and say “I thought you had dinner planned?”

Now, I’m one of the most laid back girls you can date. Take me for a beer and pizza to watch the game – I may not understand the game, but I won’t complain. I’ll cook for you, come on over! I don’t need Mr. Manners, but I do need a please and thank you, and some general etiquette.

Numero uno would be – If you ask me over to dinner, have it planned out. I don’t care if its hot dogs on the grill, have a freaking plan.

Thirty minutes later we’re eating generic boxed mac & cheese and burned chicken breasts. After dinner he wants to watch a movie. As he’s putting in the surprise, I’m wording my “friends” speech in my head. I look up and to my surprise he’s walking over to the couch smiling, apparently pretty pleased with himself as the Stars Wars opening song plays loudly through his surround sound.

Needless to say I got a headache a third of the way through the movie and broke it off with him over the phone the next day.