You know when you are all nervous and jittery and when you have to change your first outfit because of the huge sweat patch? You don’t know how but you manage to convince yourself that the person you are going on a date with is probably a serial killer or a monster who runs a sweatshop in his basement and he will tie you up and lock you down there because you deserve it? Then you talk yourself down and convince yourself that you are overthinking the situation? Especially because in reality, he is the one who has to impress you, because you are smart, and witty and fabulous then you go back to feeling all nauseous and sweaty again because you are not? Yeah, well… this was me the evening of my first date and as it turns out, I was right. I should have been feeling like that, and just stayed in bed and watched Netflix like I wanted to deep down because, well because… I went on the date… and before I get into the actual happenings, it was… horrible… THE worst.
A little back story. I met this guy, you know what, scratch that.. I met this BOY, a little over a year ago at a mutual friend’s 21st birthday dinner. We pretty much hung out the entire night and he was cute and funny and charming. I mean, we talked and flirted (which I did not think I was capable of) and we kissed a little and talked some more. A fourth year student at the University of Toronto, double-majoring in Political Science and History and minoring in French. You see? potential. So, he asked me for my number and added me on snapchat, because what is the difference these days? and we talked on and off the whole of last year. In December, he became a bit more forthcoming and consistent with the texts and snapchats and the lovestruck emojis, so I’m thinking this is going great. I mean, I probably got ahead of myself in head, but that’s not the point.
This past January, he asked me to go to a concert with him. First of all, FINALLY!!! and second, I’m thinking, this is smart, the perfect no pressure situation. A loud hiphop concert, so we can get the talking out of the way before and when we get there, we can just enjoy the music and have a few cuddles. Boy, was I wrong? I get to his apartment and this is about 8pm, and he is already halfway drunk but see, I am still making excuses for him in my head. I mean, this is a hiphop concert, its chill… he is not my boyfriend yet, he is allowed to do whatever he wants. I sit on the couch and take off my jacket because again with the sweatiness. He offers me a bit of Hennessy and fruit juice, and hands me a glass. As I make my drink, he hovers and proceeds to ask me if I brought any alcohol with me. Because you know? as the cheapie that he is, he cannot afford to let go of a little Hennessy and generic fruit juice. We sit in silence for about ten minutes, after which he so politely and graciously informs me that he is going to the balcony to have a smoke and I could join him if I wanted. Again, I overlook the attitude and think to myself, I am a big girl, I can handle myself, he does not have to check in with me every two seconds.
On the balcony, he lights his cigarette and gives me a confused look and asks “what is your major again?.” Oo you mean the one I have probably told you twelve times already, but its ok, its a bit awkward so I’ll do anything for a little conversation. He makes a few jokes and calls me “impressive” so I blush and giggle like a little school girl. He then informs me that, we have to pick up a few of his “G’s” because they are going to the concert as well and makes sense for us to go together. All I could think was “this has got to be a joke”, “I took a shower for this!”, “Like, am I being punk’s”. This was it, this was the point I realized that I wasn’t on a date. I was either one of the guys or a booty call but again, I am getting ahead of myself.
So, we pick up his “G’s” and we all cram into the ONE uber he called. He also makes a gesture to me that suggests that for some strange reason, I should be extremely grateful for this but you know what? He can’t steal my joy because I hear one of the two songs I know and I have to get into the concert before it is over. We dance a little and cuddle and he tells me I smell like a garden of roses, MAJOR brownie points. By this point, I know exactly what he wants and I know he didn't say this to compliment me. He has probably done this a thousand times before and figures that a well-placed line like this could get him a lot further along in less time. So, I don't act the least bit phased and suddenly he begins to look a little worried. As the night progressed, it was clear to me that this was never about me or the concert. He could barely keep his hands to himself, which would normally be a compliment but it was not.
At about 11pm, the concert was over. I was tired, HUNGRY, half my makeup had melted off my face and I was irritated as hell so I just wanted to go home but no, this boy asks me to come back to his apartment to watch “Parks and Recreation.” What is so insulting is not even the fact that it was such a blatant lie, it was the fact that I meant so little to him that he couldn't be bothered to come up with a better excuse to drag me back to his apartment. The entitlement in his voice became more and more apparent, and suddenly he began to look at me like I owed him this, because he bought me a ten dollar ticket and paid for my cab. I literally called my uber and got out of there as fast as I could. As soon as I get in my uber, I send him twenty dollars, so that we are clear that I do not owe him anything. Needless to say, we haven't spoken since and I am fine with that. My nerves and jitters were Jesus’ way of telling me to sit my ass in my apartment and watch Gilmore Girls in peace and I should have listened. All I could think of on my ride home was “what a goddamn waste of my time and my false eyelashes!”
No comments:
Post a Comment