Dating Blind
I don’t believe in blind dates… never have, never will. Not that I blame you for trying… you could turn down all inquiries from friends, reject all offers and sit home alone every night like I do. How does that look to ya?
I use my unwillingness to get off my ass and meet women any way possible as some sort of shield of armor. Look at me. See how sure of myself I am? See how I bask so joyously in my solitude? Deep down I know I am fooling NO ONE, but it’s still the most comfortable skin I know right now. Deep down, I also know I don’t want it to be like this for the rest of my life.
I know you and I love you, but I don’t know what it’s like to actually be you. Therefore, I don’t know what it might be like to see a face fall at the sight of you, especially because you and I both know you’re a damn good looking woman. Now that you mention it though, I did go on a dinner date with a woman much younger than me last week and I saw her face fall as well. It happened as soon as I started talking about my children and how dominant a part of my life they were.
Change, you can’t, nor should you… no matter how many unimportant faces fall once the front door opens.
The other night I was out for a beer with a friend and I ran into a married couple I’ve known since I was married. The wife tells me she knows I don’t do blind dates, but that I should trust her on this because the woman she has in mind is everything a real man wants in a woman. I bend, but I don’t break. With hidden regret, I take a pass once more.
Maybe next time.
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Watch Out, Your Face Is Falling
I have a blind date tonight. I should be really excited about it. We’ve talked on the phone a few times, emailed a few times and have seen pictures of each other. He’s cute. He’s really cute. He’s also smart, and funny, and quick-witted, just how I like them. I should be really excited. But I’m not. Why? Because I already know what’s going to happen.
I know what you’re going to say, “You bring this on yourself, you see the glass half-empty, blah, blah, blah.” I know what’s going to happen because it’s what always happens when I meet someone cute who I’ve already talked to. They’re excited because I’m a ball of fire on the phone, flirty, sexy, funny, and they think they’re going to have a great time.
Then they walk in and their face falls.
It’s not that I’m fat and ugly – for the record, I’m pretty sure I’m quite attractive. I guess I just sound thinner. I actually don’t think I have a bad figure, I’m a size 8, curvy, not covered in cellulite. I’ve got big boobs, a small waist, and a butt. But in this godforsaken city I happen to reside in, my 12 extra pounds are a death sentence.
I’m a supermodel on the phone, and Janeane Garofalo in person.
And tonight will be no different. But I’ll still go, because there’s the off-chance that this guy will see past my less-than-perfect glutes and notice that he could put his thumbs and index fingers around my waist and they might touch. There’s the off-chance this guy will see past my full cheeks and notice that I have an attractive smile. There’s the off-chance that this guy will like that I’m funny and smart and stick around to find out I’m a great kisser.
I’ll let you know.
