I don’t blog about dating. I know, it seems stupid that I’ll plaster pictures of my kids all over the World Wide Web and write about my balls but I won’t write about girlfriends or dating. I’m funny like that.
A few months ago I went on a first date over a late breakfast. Oh wait, I mean a friend went on a first date over breakfast. To make this flow better, I will pretend I am actually the friend, even though I’m not cuz I never write about dating. Anyway, breakfast - I don’t know why I agreed to this other than the fact I love bacon and everybody knows that bacon is worse than alcohol when it comes to making poor decisions in conjunction with consumption. Of course I made this decision without having had the bacon yet, but the simple thought of it made me instantly say yes.
I got to the diner first and busied myself with a few games of Words With Friends while I inhaled the sweet smell of bacon. The date showed up and we had to wait five minutes for our table.
I talk a lot. And I’d like to believe when I talk a lot that I actually say interesting things. During the five minute wait for our table, I didn’t speak a word, other than a few guttural acknowledgements and a periodic “okay” or “right” with accompanying head nods while the date rambled on and on and on about her ex and his drug problems. Yep, the first five minutes leapt right into his usage and possible manufacturing of various illegal substances. I suppose all that is interesting.
I eyeballed the front doors and thought about a fake limp I could add to a hectic escape while I held my kidney and frantically told the date how sorry I was that I had to leave and have an emergency appendectomy. But then a waitress walked by with a plate of bacon and the hostess said our table was ready.
We sat down and her conversation moved on to her many talents. Yes, it was her conversation. I spoke more to the waitress than to the date. Apparently the date was at one time awesome at everything. She used to model, she was a top cadet in the police academy, she saved the Bank of America account when she was an intern writing copy for an ad agency and she apparently was on the road to being a professional soccer player as she played with Mia Hamm all the time and was just as good or really probably much much better.
She quite effortlessly shifted her conversation to her vehicle and actually said, “I’m a very good driver.” Under normal circumstances, I would have Rain Manned her ass but A) she would have never gotten it and 2) she didn’t deserve my cleverness and III) I couldn’t get a word in anyway.
I hoped the deer in the headlights look I was giving her wasn’t misconstrued as gazing deeply into her eyes. I was so stunned, I couldn’t decide how to intercede so I mostly didn’t, other than those head nods, raised eyebrows and questionable sounds of bewilderment. She finally asked me a question. I think it was about my playing basketball. I think I said, “Yes, I play,” and then was interrupted by her saying, “I play basketball. I’m really good actually. I play at the park, shooting around with my daughter. People would even stop to comment and tell me how good I am.”
After she gushed on and on about herself she actually asked me a second question. I think it was about what else I like to do. I told her I like to write. This is how it went down:
“I like to write.”
She interrupted and said, “I write. I have written books and articles and have had lots of things published. I’m a great writer.” Then she talked for a few minutes about her copywriting for an ad agency again and somehow the modeling, top cadet, and soccer came up again. And then she told me how crafty she is. She makes things all the time and her friends buy them from her for lots of money.
My plate was empty and all the bacon was gone. I ate fast. Really fast. It helped that I wasn’t able to talk, nor did I want to. She managed to shovel a lot of food into her pie hole while she told me how she was the smartest person in her school, she is a really good bowler and she loves to rock climb and that she is awesome at it. She’s apparently a really good eater too and I can’t fathom how many years ago she modeled much less that she broke a sweat doing anything other than walking up stairs.
I asked for the check and the date asked what I do. I said I run a small business and she said, “I ran a small business. It was really successful. I’m a great business owner.”
I wanted to tell her I’m a robot to see how she’d respond. I’m sure it would have been something like, “I’m a robot. I’m the best robot in the world. I have bionic arms and legs. People stop me all the time and tell me what a great robot I am.”
I limped to the cashier holding my kidney. The date said something about being an awesome limper and how she was in the Olympic Limping Trials while I quickly paid the bill in cash. We went outside and I said, “Well, that bacon was good. I’ve got to get going now.” I think she said she makes the best bacon in the world as I limp-ran to my car while doubled over.
I got in and saw her waving to me. She said something I couldn’t quite hear, but I’m sure it was “I’m better than bacon.”