The Last Time

I think I went on my last online dating date.

Yes. I did. Even if I've said I was done before, this one was it.

This guy wasn't mean. He didn't stand me up. He wasn't like bizarrely old or bring his mom. He was pretty nice. And before I describe how much of a total nerd he was, I want to be clear how much I enjoy interesting people. I like it when people aren't boring, aren't trying to be something they're not. It will be clear how much I appreciate hygiene though. And that I do value physical appearance. At least some physical attraction is crucial to blind dates.

This guy didn't look like what I thought. From his pictures and the chatting we did, he seemed athletic and vibrant. In reality, he was doughy and sallow. OK. Not a deal breaker.

This guy greased his hair. It wasn't water. It didn't dry. He had lubed his hair forward. Not my thing. OK. Keep going.

His chest was concave. Like a spoon. Like if he laid on his back, I could put a huge lump of sugar on his chest. How does that happen? I don't know. The rest of him was soft and squishy--like a plumped up sponge. So porous. He must have been sweating all over--oozing. But his chest. He was wearing a nice shirt but it gapped in the middle. I could see inside his shirt to his soft, squishy, spongy skin. I'm getting mean, I know.

He had bad teeth. I like nice teeth. I could see his retainer behind his lower set of incisors. His cheeks were puffy. I'm sure it was all the extra teeth in his mouth trying to get out... through is cheeks. I could hear all the saliva in there moving around and his tongue clacking against the metal.

Pink spots on his cheeks. Pink acne spots on his squishy chipmunk cheeks.

Coke bottle glasses.

His fingers were moving the whole time. I was drawn to them, looking at his fidgeting fingers on the tabletop. He had a tiny piece of paper that he kept twisting around and tearing. Those pudgy fingers were so chewed up. Bad.

The worst part? The worst part of all. This guy obviously has to shave sometimes because I could see the area above and below his mouth were speckled. He had shaved recently, at least this one area of his face. The worst part? Three hairs. One. Two. Three. Hairs. On the side of jaw sprouting out. Three dark hairs poking out of his face.

We talked for an hour. He giggled and guffawed and chided me. I lamely planned out different escape procedures. And then I listened and tried to make the best of it. Then I stared at his hairs and his fingers and the people around me and I wondered, What am I doing here?  Why am I doing this?

I left with a 'Take care' and a wave. I got home and deleted my account with a flourish for my own sake.  I like to be dramatic.

Oh wait, the really worst part? We drive the same car. God, I hope that wasn't some sort of message.