Perfect on Paper
The morning of The Date arrived, and our young heroine awoke with butterflies in her stomach. The Prospect was perfect on paper—his emails were witty and charming, and a quick glance of his friendster profile revealed a very good-looking young gentleman. Even the phone conversation they had was easygoing and pleasant. “If he’s this cute and charming in person, this is it!” she thought. Visions of a new relationship, moving in, and actually finding The One danced in her head. Her Roommate had met her new boyfriend 15 days after her breakup with the Asshole, and this Date was exactly 2 weeks after her own breakup. Surely she would be so lucky. Perhaps the good luck was contagious? She insisted upon rubbing Roommate’s belly for good luck.After carefully choosing an outfit and straightening her hair, she headed off to work. A quick glance in the mirror gave her a boost of confidence. She looked quite the part. Pretty, somewhat trendy, very nice. Enough cleavage to entice without looking trashy. Her new coworkers complimented her as well: “You look nice! Good luck!” they called. A quick check with one of them also revealed some promising news: the two hickeys, even without makeup, no longer appeared to be such. One looked like a streak of makeup under her chin, and the other looked like an indescribable bruise of some sort, but definitely not a hickey. A quick application of cover-up and all was well.
After walking around the block at Kim’s insistence, so as not to turn up too early, she arrived at the agreed upon destination. “How will I spot him? Will he look like his picture?” She didn’t have to worry—in the sea of black that filled the bar, the Prospect was the sole patron in light blue. He spotted her, too, and waved as she walked through the door.
He was, as advertised, two inches shorter than her. Intellectually she had thought that it wouldn’t be an issue, but face-to-face she realized that she had been spoiled by the cadre of tall guys she had dated over recent years. Her first boyfriend was four inches shorter, so two wouldn’t be a problem, right? Well, perhaps her posture had improved or her aesthetics had changed, but she definitely felt uncomfortable standing next to a shorter guy. In addition, the cuteness that so clearly came through in the photos was not to be found. Perhaps it was his trying-too-hard mannerisms, but he was definitely not as attractive in person.
The bar was far too packed with the happy hour crowd to move or converse comfortably, so the decision was made to head somewhere else. As they wandered aimlessly, they stumbled upon a spacious Times Square martini bar, not filled with tourists, that was relatively empty, aside from two birthday parties taking up the seating areas. She filed the location away in her mind for future events. They sat down on a cozy couch, where the young waitress announced it was her 23rd birthday, and what did they want to order. When the Prospect ordered an Apple Martini, she knew it was a bad sign. Other bad signs: most of his friends are women. Most of them gay women. He went to a club last weekend by himself. She knew she shouldn’t judge, but isn’t that what dating is all about, making judgments?
Two martinis later, she began to feel a little tipsy, especially given the lack of food in her stomach. Gesticulating wildly, as she tends to do, she knocked her martini over, all over both her lap and the Prospect’s. He leapt up, in a most uncool manner, recoiling at the liquid running down his leg. It was only cold liquid—was such a dramatic display necessary? Evidently the Prospect felt it was, as he rapidly grabbed napkins to dab over the spill. She knew at this moment that it wasn’t meant to be.
She was hungry, however, so they headed to a Brazilian place to eat. The Prospect’s company was not unpleasant, and she desperately needed nourishment. Again, at this place, a girly drink was ordered. Some strawberry concoction. She knew it was a bad sign that her drinks were more masculine. At least he ordered a steak. The dinner progressed without incident, and the suggestion for a nightcap was made. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t end the date, but she agreed to a third bar, for more drinks.
She was definitely getting more drunk by the minute, and this bar had a dance floor. All of the sudden the Prospect had moves! They began to make out in a secluded corner—and strangely enough, it was hot. He asked if she wanted to take it someplace else, and she figured since she didn’t actually care if he called her or not, she would. (Our young heroine has a very strict policy about not going very far with guys. Or at least guys she’s interested in). So they hopped in a cab to his place.
The sex was actually not bad, not bad at all. Of course, the Prospect couldn’t get her off, not knowing her trigger points, but it was still an enjoyable experience for both parties. The morning after, however, did cause our heroine some distress. There was not enough time for her to return to her apartment in the morning to change—and she was wearing the same clothes! Imagine the stir that would be caused in the office if such an event were to occur. After an uncomfortable train ride with the Prospect, she was lucky enough to find an open clothing store and found one of those boho skirts (in lavender, her favorite color) and a cute tank top to wear. No one was the wiser.
Around 3:30pm, the Prospect sent a text message: “Did you find something cute to buy?” If she had really liked this guy, it would have been the perfect gesture. She sighed. The sparks weren’t there. Clearly he was just perfect on paper.
posted by . @ 3:45 PM
2 Comments:
Yeah, I guess I am a dirty whore. I like my plan of adopting him and teaching him to be not a loser. I wonder if he'll call again?
You should write about your situation w/ him here!
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