the worst date ever

The worst date ever....
Most of us veritably cringe in horror in reflection of some of our past dating experiences; unfortunately, as with any news worthy of reporting, the memories most significantly recalled are those tragic or hilaroiusly ridiculous dating experiences at our expense.They may have wrought tears, revulsion, frustration or unexpected laughter being witness to such outrageous behavior in someone who requested our company and time.
In the spirit of recollection and camaraderie over our shared dating experiences I have decided to blog about "the worst date ever".
I remember my worst date ever. Tragically, God provided me a glimmer of insight the evening before my date as to how things would play out, but I neglected to take this celestial hint and thus prevent myself crying in my cheerios in the negative aftermath.I wonder, in my determination to have a positive dating experience after the slew of jack assess who considered Denny's "fine cuisine" if even a clould of locusts or a mightly flood of would have been a strong enough sign to sway from my pursuit of decent date.
The night before my date I had been out dancing at a night club, and in the middle of "hammer time" I turned around a saw a familiar face dirty dancing with an attractive blonde in a tight black dress. Upon further glance I recongnized "Doug" (names have been changed to protect the guilty) the seemingly nice guy I had met who had asked me to join him for a quaint bayside lunch the following Sunday afternoon. Upon recognition, he passed alarming glances between myself and his tango partner, and then put on a passing poker face once he came to resolution of the potential confrontation. He then had the nerve to grab my shoulder when her back was turned, wink and whisper "are we still on for tomorrow". I shrugged a non chalant affirmation before turning back to finish my awesome cabbage patch maneuver in a pitiful attempt to impress him with casual reaction to the awkwardness. He was under no obligation to me and I figured he had the right to do whatever he wanted. I still intended to keep the date and come to further determination of his character after.
The next day, not only was he twenty minutes late, with no phone call, our quaint outing consisted of stroll down grotty Mission Bay Boardwalk, with no food and stilted, uninteresting conversation. Worse still, with the wonderful ethnic diversity that comprises the beach area, he felt inclined to make negative comments about "damn foreigners" and "euro trash". Mortified, hungry, and feeling increasingly uncomfortable over his mental stability, I foolishly stayed put, hoping for some glimmer of interest to spark. After several more minutes I recognized the imminent futility of that hope and resigned myself to an afternoon of pain.
All at once I recognized an attractive guy who frequented the same beach bar as I; he was riding a beach cruiser, smiling. To my then demented brain his bike was transformed into a white steed, he was armed with a lance and would surely come charging down the sand, sweep me to safety and trounce on the ingrate who had been wasting my Sunday. I never could get his attention, and the longest hour of my life elapsed between walking back to date's car, and the eventual drive home. I shudder in disdain over that experience, and curse myself for staying. I don't understand why I did not arrange a back up plan, to have a friend call my cell phone under the guise of distress. The code word for "save me" being an inquiry of "are you alright?" and thus departing effectively and innocently, with the intent to save a friend in distress. The code word for "he is hot and I am in heaven" being "oh, nice hearing from you." At least I don't have to worry about that anymore.
My significant other has a short, but tragic dating story. He had been seeing an attractive girl, who was petite and slight; it was the early 90s and the waifish look was in, therefore her slender physique, always disguised, under modest dress, did not alarm him.. He had arranged to take her to a up and coming, trendy restaurant, and was looking forward to partaking of the acclaimed cuisine. When dinner came, and she had not touched her food, he inquired as to any problems with the quality, and she shook her head and burst into tears. In an attempt to be galant, he motioned the server over to take back the dinner as he presumed she was in agony over the quality of the food. Through her tears she informed him she was an anorexic and thus unable to eat a full dinner, He kindly dried her tears, expressed comfort and understanding, drove her home and recommended a good internal medicine physician for treatment. He did not obsess nor analyze the experience; in his opinion the date was horrible because a terrific meal was wasted. Men are so wonderfully pragmatic. When something does not work, simply move on. I wish I had possessed such practicality.