I think I attract idiots…work with me on this
Let me tell you an inspiring story. I went on a date once, with this – I’m going to call him ‘idiot’ for the purpose of this story. He seemed nice enough. Seemed to know an awful lot about me…but I’ll get to that later…
It was my own fault really; I shouldn’t have even been out to dinner with him in the first place. I was already seeing someone, and even though I’d made that abundantly clear to the idiot, he still insisted on us being friends, and as such friends eat dinner together and I couldn’t argue with that sort of logic, but when he turned up at my door dressed in a pressed suit and holding flowers, well I should’ve been concerned, because my definition of ‘smart casual’ was a little more relaxed and involved me wearing the same pantyhose from the night before. He insisted I take the flowers -after all the petrol station was giving them away to any customer that spent more then $7.00 at the pump.
I texted my boyfriend to tell him I was being kidnapped, and when he told me to ‘have fun with that’; I decided that the evening was going to stop short of reckless abandonment.
As we drove up, and up into the hills, away from the taxis’ and buses, away from the authority of the law I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d left with my mother with any decent photos of myself, should police and searchers need a point of reference for identification…he even told me that for shits and giggles he’d Googled me, searched the archive section of the state library and had a cool pic of me in his wallet, just in case he found himself in a situation where he needed to describe me to someone…’5’3″, brown hair, olive skin, last seen in the presence of someone in desperate need of help…’
I’d met idiot boy at party with work colleagues I was in the process of barely tolerating at the time. He thought I was funny and cute – a pocket puppy I think was the term. I was drunk, miserable and hadn’t seen my then boyf in over 6 months – I would’ve accepted a dinner invite from someone on day release…
Finally we arrive at the restaurant -or should I say winery. We were led to a remote table for two, complete with candlelight and our own private waiter. Had it been a Monday night I wouldn’t have blinked, but I couldn’t help but think that for a Saturday evening, it was a little more then decadent.
I excused myself to the bathroom, where I broke my rule and called my boyf in Oxford – demanding that he come and take me home NOW! He made up some dreadful excuse about being stuck at work, or being in another country – but either way I didn’t want to hear it and promptly hung up, dropping my phone in the toilet at the same time.
Back at dinner, an arrangement of food and bevies had been delivered to the table. I wasn’t impressed -he’d ordered for me, and that was one liberty I wasn’t having, but I didn’t want to give him any hope, so I let this charade of a chat between friends continue.
As for the caviar was plated onto our gold leafed plates and I took out some nail polish to stop a ladder in my pantyhose, idiot pulled out a small box, neatly wrapped – David Jones I think and a card.
It wasn’t a public holiday, my birthday, Hanukah, Saints Day, nor the running of the bulls…what was he like? Before I could fill my wine glass he opened with the notorious line of ‘you’re special’ – oh Christ I muttered. ‘Thanks’ I responded ‘but you do know I’m seeing someone at the moment, and you’re really nice and everything, and I’m sure-‘ He placed finger over my mouth, my red Coral Colours Lipstick smudging over my face, and he opened my card…now I don’t know how many of you reading this have any been in the presence of a serial killer, but I think I was pretty close, as I was forced to sit there listening to him recite his card – an ode to me- yep, he’d taken every letter in my rather long name and found a word that perfectly described me, but when he told me I was like a flower, and I vomited a little in my mouth I knew it was time to set the record straight.
This did not go down very well at all – let’s just say that after carefully explaining that I wasn’t going to advance on his intentions he called me a ‘bitch’…’a prick tease’…and my personal favourite ‘a not very nice person’.
But the kicker was, he got up and stormed out – fitting me with a $270.00 bill + tip, a broken phone, not enough money to take a cab home and a really embarrassing tear in my stocking and not to mention a fucking awful pink card with my face superimposed on it, over his – creating a ‘perfect unison’.
The dish pig in the kitchen was lovely and kind enough to give me a lift back to town, and oh what fun we had as he told me he’d never met such a pretty girl on his day-release program- and no need to worry, he was was heavily medicated – and with that we cracked open another beer.