Months after breaking off a four-year relationship, my friends felt it was time for me to get back into the dating arena. They had nothing but good intentions in mind. However, nothing could have prepared me for the “turkey” of a date I had been set up on!
My blind date picked me up in his very showy car. Our destination…the “best restaurant in town”…he announced.
Within 15 minutes of leaving the security of my home, he looked at me and asked, “Do you believe in love at first sight? I think I love you! Will you marry me?”
As I sat pondering my answer carefully, I began to sweat. My first thought was, “How scraped up can you really get jumping from a car doing 60 mph? On second thought, I’ll wait until we get to the restaurant and politely order a meal, avoiding the question. Then I will excuse myself, head to the ladies’ room, and dial a cab…making for a quick getaway.”
Placing my order was no easy feat either. My date took it upon himself to order for me. Being the “ham” that he was, he decided to REALLY impress me and ordered: three entrees, four appetizers, and three “umbrella drinks”…and that was just for ME!
Now, like the next person, I love to eat. But, this massive quantity of food was a downright embarrassment! The waiter looked at my date like he had just seen a purple orangutan seated next to me. I tried my best to avoid any further eye contact with the waiter, sure that he would remember me for life!
As we waited for our “feast” to be served, my date began to tell me tales of his personal wonder. He had conquered every goal in life attainable to man. Women. Looks. (I wondered if he used that generic mirror cleaner…you know that streaky kind?) Career. Sports. He’d had done it all.. .bigger and better than any living being.
The food arrived, covering every inch of our linen-covered table. Eyes stared from about the room as the waiter proceeded to light butter warmers, flaming desserts, candles, you name it. Truly this was a date literally going up in flames.
My face became even more red…due to the table of flames lapping at my carefully applied makeup. Suddenly, an odor caused my nostrils to curl. It was a burning smell. Not a woody smell. Not a candle smell. Oh, my gosh…that’s it! Burning hair! My date’s bangs had singed as he leaned across the table.
I am sure most Greek god’s have better sense than to allow their flowing hair to touch flames, but apparently my date lacked that same common sense.
After staring for several seconds, I suggested that he excuse himself to the mens’ room for a peek in the mirror.
Within seconds of his departure, girly-screams could be heard bellowing from the mens’ room. “Waiter, check please. I asked for my date to be “rare”, not “well done.”