Webster's Dictionary

The last post about dating brought back some memories of Horrible Dates Past that I thought I had long smothered with alcohol and disassociation. Turns out, not so much.

I have so many bad date stories I could write about, how can I choose just one? Should I chose the one about the guy that professed his undying love and desire to marry me (on the first date)? What about the guy that quit his job at Wendy's and lived with his Mom & Dad (& 5 VERY STINKY ferrets)? Or maybe the guy that said he didn't care for hot tamales and then proceeded to eat my entire bag during the movie? Or maybe... I'll just tell you about Webster.

Webster. Webster will hold a special place in my memory (until I drink him into oblivion) for he was the first date I had after leaving my ex-husband. I was nervous, excited, well-groomed and nicely scented. But I would come to find out that that was all for nothing.*

We decided to meet at a Sushi restaurant within walking distance of my house. So I meet him there, and was only a little put off by the fact he doesn't stand up to greet me and he looks about as excited to be meeting me as one would be by hearing news of mandatory oral surgery. Without Novocaine. I sit. He tells me he isn't sure he likes sushi. Since we haven't ordered, I suggest going to any of the other dozen restaurants in walking distance. He assures me that it is alright. He asks for a recommendation, I say the California Roll as it is the most tame and mild of all sushi rolls (However if I had known that he was going to pick up and play with EACH sesame seed with his chop sticks, I would have suggested differently).

I am on the verge of giving this guy cool points for being adventurous and trying new things... until he started making the faces. You know, THOSE faces. The faces that 5 and 6 year olds make when they're forced to eat lentils or Brussels sprouts. This was quickly pushed out of mind when the swishing started. Swishing. Like mouthwash. It turns out that Webster needs to swish his drink around in his mouth before drinking it. Not every time. But every other time. Roughly. Regardless of what he was drinking, water, Sprite, beer... it was all swished.

After leaving the Sushi place, we walked down the street and when he saw that Fric & Frac had a special on tacos, he wanted to go in. So, he asked me if I would mind if we went in and, basically, start the date over. I really didn't know what to do since I've been absent from the dating scene for about 6 years and those of you good at math will know that I was 18 the last time I was on a date and that just consisted of McDonald's and put-put golf. This was, relatively speaking, a step up. So I agreed. I watched him wolf down 6 tacos (with extra sour cream) and swish beer. Conversation was strained since I wasn't eating and he kept shoveling (and swishing) food and drink into his mouth. I don't remember at which point it was (the glop of sour creme on his chin, the loud smacking of fingers or borderline gurgling of beer) where I stop trying. Thankfully he was a fast eater and we left. As we parted ways, he gave me an awkward side hug and said he was off to his parents. I half expected him to add "for dinner."

"It was nice meeting you" I reply and turn around and start my 3 block walk home. I never called or emailed him back and he didn't try to contact me again. Which is fine, because I only need one Fat, Dull, Dust covered Dictionary in my apartment.

*This will continue to be the theme of almost all my dates from this point on to the present and sadly, probably, into the future.