Mr. Short

January 29th, 2010

After a few dozen questionable dates on a certain dating site, I decided it was time to cast a wider net.  Time to sign up for another site.  With absolutely no intention of canceling my account on the first one, I basically copied and pasted my entire profile on the new site and had them both up and running.  After a quick exploration, it seemed like a less-than-savory group of people were congregating on the new site.  I don't understand how this is even possible since the original one I was on doesn't exactly represent the cream of the crop and both sites are free, so...not really sure what the reason could be other than the fact that one site is prettier to look at and, however ludicrous, attracts prettier people.

After shrugging my shoulders and continuing to review the new, homely crop Mr. Short sends me an email.  He seems cool, has decent style in his two photos (red flag), and is charming enough in his email.  In retrospect, he only looked like a catch because he was swimming in a mud puddle and was, I would soon discover, actually gross.  He suggests a gelato spot and I agree to meet him clear across town for our day date, a true sign that my standards were slipping. 

FIRST IMPRESSION: He's short.  Waaaaaaay shorter than his profile lead me to believe.  Now that I think about it, he didn't have height on his stats.  He's blond and wiry.  His pants are extremely tight and he is NOT slim, in fact, he has no business wearing this outfit.  He's sweating.

So, it turns out that he suggested this particular gelato shop, 40 minutes from my house, because he DOESN'T HAVE A CAR.  Really?  Another one of these?  He's sweating because he rode his bike here and I can't help but inadvertently back away from him as he approaches me to say "hello."  Having just finished one of the many Emily Post manuals sitting on my bookshelf, I remember my manners and extend my hand to shake.  I comfort myself with the fact that this will probably be a short date and I at least I get to eat gelato.

We sample a few flavors and I order a double pistachio, stepping back to allow him ample room to pay.  He looks at me for a second before pulling out his wallet.  What does he expect?  I didn't just drive to Santa Monica in a pretty new dress to pay for my own gelato.  Idiot.  We sit outside and I feel slightly embarrassed to be seen with him which hasn't happened before.  Most likely because my dates are typically indoors and/or at night, but he's just sort of disgusting in general so that's really the reason.  I find myself looking everywhere but his face.  I can't even look at it!  We waste time talking about our families and how his mother lives in Pittsburgh and is Italian.  Yawn and a half.  He's studying to be a lawyer and I sort of don't believe him.  We finish our gelato and I semi-hug him goodbye before rushing across the street through traffic. Yuck.

Date # 28:  A bust.  First and last date off of dating site #2.