Wednesday, April 17, 2013
The Show must go on
We have all seen the male peacock proudly display his feathers in order to lure the female peacock into his bachelor pad for a quick go around. Is it much different with men? Not really. In their defense they can only work with what they have. For some it is their brains, for others their wit and for a select few it is that they don't have much to work with, so they have to conjure up a magical act complete with illusion and slight of hand. I went out on a date with one such man. He presented himself in such a light that I was intrigued, beguiled and interested, at least momentarily.
My date lied. This is not shocking in the least. People lie, especially when it comes to physical appearance or age. He told the truth about his age but the physical appearance, well that was another story. Now for those of you who have been following along, my pet peeve has nothing to do with how you look but more how you pretended you looked prior to me meeting you. When you say you have an athletic body and show up with a beer keg gut, either your definition of athletic and mine are very different, or you just plain lied to get me out on a date. Either way I am horrified by your grasp of the English language or the fact that you thought I wouldn't notice. This date was a large man to say the least. A large man who saw himself very differently.
But I am already on the date and there is no turning back. As soon as the date started I knew I was seeing a well rehearsed show. I almost expected to be handed a program so I could follow along. First stop. A fancy Philadelphia hotel where my date happened to know everyone and they him. Here I was supposed to notice how they fawned over him, and how friendly he was with those who work for him. Take away: this is a good guy who cares about the little people. What I really saw: A guy so insecure that he doesn't go anywhere people don't know him.
From there I was whisked to the fancy hotel bar where they pretty bartender immediately fixed my dates drink without asking what he wanted. She batted her eyelashes at him just enough to try to make me realize that my date was a desired man. He chit chatted with her about her recent trip thus solidifying his kindness to the working class. But as he slurped down his drinks and gnawed at the olives I kept wondering how many girls before me had taken in this show. Then when he suggested I try a mixed drink that he had heard was delicious I was tempted to ask him which date prior to me had declared it yummy? I don't drink vodka, which I mentioned, but he told me I would barely taste it. Again I repeated that I don't drink vodka. He suggested gin in the drink. Nope don't drink that either. He sighed. I was going to order off the program. This might ruin the show. I got a glass of wine.
Two drinks later it was intermission. During intermission we headed to an apartment in said fancy hotel where my date said he lived. We were required to make small talk with the doorman thus justifying my date's presence there. It was a fancy apartment. But when I asked about the seemingly feminine bedroom, I clearly had looked too far backstage. My date conceded that perhaps this might not be his apartment. Perhaps this apartment may belong to his mother. And perhaps he may just be staying with her. Hmmmm. This show has some major story and character flaws.
After intermission it was time for the second act. Luckily I consumed enough alcohol to make it through. The second act was dinner. I was taken to a restaurant where once again my date knew everyone. At this point I suspect I was supposed to notice his overwhelming popularity but I was on my third drink and really hoping the show would come to close soon. He ordered without asking me what I wanted, or more importantly what I didn't eat. And out came some sort of veal dish. Veal. I don't eat veal. Or lamb or lobster. But clearly my part in the show had not been written in yet. He tried to scoop some veal onto a fork and feed it to me. I demurred. I was ruining this act. So he consumed the veal adding to his not so athletic figure. After my fourth glass of wine we were off. Whisking me home in his car he asked if he could take me out again. Perhaps to a comedy club. I told him I didn't love comedy clubs. He frowned. I was really, really ruining his show. Comedy Clubs were the sequel.
The show came to close with me slurring goodnight and climbing out of his car. My takeaways were supposed to be this: This man is rich, people like him and he is in charge. What I took away: this man's mother may be rich, people who work for him are required to seem like they like him and he doesn't listen to his dates. All in all I would call this show a success for both of us. He got to rehearse once again and I got drunk. His show can go on, but without me. I will look elsewhere and continue to date because after all I am divorced and single.
Posted by The Divorced Dating Experiment at 10:16 AM