Worst Dates

Inspired by my blogging friend (may I call you that, Princess?), I decided dig into my dating past (a LONG time ago) to write about one of my Worst Dates. I mulled them all over and actually found THREE worst dates. Now for the scary part: I ended up marrying one of these guys. Can you guess which one?:

Date #1
I was 16. He was handsome, 18, and my parents really liked him (he was a neighbor), which explains their blessing upon our date. (You decide if their instincts were right; he grew up to be a Congressman!) So…he took me to a Cantonese restaurant. This was a first for me; my first sit-down-inside-the-restaurant date! I don’t remember the food, but I do remember being served my first alcoholic beverage (Yes, Mom and Dad; the young man you trusted me wasted no time in buying me a drink. Maybe I was 18??) After dinner, I was floored that he opened my door to his Volkswagen Beetle (1970’s style) outside, and even more wowed when he actually asked if he could kiss me! Wow! “May I kiss you?” he asked, smiling disarmingly and waiting for an answer. I had never been treated with such respect from a guy, and I was really diggin’ it. Giddy, I said yes and leaned toward him. The only problem was that I was expecting a little, romantic kiss, but what I got was a GIANT tongue shoved down my unsuspecting throat! I cannot express the disgust I felt. Yup. I felt violated; it was disgusting. It was also the end of the date for me; he wasn’t that handsome. I told him I was tired and wanted him to take me home. He did.

Date #2
I was 18. He was a slightly older muscle-head who drove a Trans-am and preened in every reflecting surface we passed that night. He also had a drinking problem, apparently, because during dinner (another restaurant date!), it became clear that he was wasted. Now, this was back before therapy and Adult Children of Alcoholics meetings, so I could not simply walk out or tell him, “You’re an ass. I’m going home.” Instead, I politely excused myself to the restroom and called a friend’s mom for ride home. I was mortified when he caught me on the payphone, mid-call. “Who ya’ calling?” he slurred. “Oh, nobody,” I apologized and returned to the table. Feigning a headache, I asked him to take me home (yes, I know; pure stupidity and I could slap my old self for her behavior, but what can I say; she was sick.) We drove up onto a curb or two on the way home, and he took out some of the lawn near the driveway. I had the door open before the car stopped. “Don’t I get a kiss?” he called out as I rushed into the house. The next day, I received a bouquet of flowers with a card of a guy in a doghouse. He called a week later for another date. Guess what my answer was?

Date #3
My date with Mr. Wonderful took place the night after a party he went to with his friend, Gumby (a guy who could dislocate his shoulders and move his clasped hands from behind his back to his front without letting go!) Mr. Cool had rented a Ford Mustang (to impress me) and picked me, Gumby, and Gumby’s girlfriend, Sue up to go skiing. Pretty cool, I thought. This is going to be fun (learning how to ski, with a cute guy!) It was only moments into the 2-hour drive, however (I still remember the location, in fact), before a distinctly disgusting odor overtook the vehicle, and I began to question my decision. Prince Charming and Gumby had apparently consumed massive quantities of “Old Pile” (OldStyle beer, for those out of this region) the night before; the evidence of which could not be ignored. Don’t ask me why, but instead of asking to turn the car around, I joined Sue in opening the windows (and later the doors) to waft out the stench of the many, many “emissions” that occurred during that ride. When I wanted to talk, I had to remove my mittened hand from my mouth/nose area and speak quickly. In between gulps of oxygen (and my choking), I tried to focus on the conversation, instead of my burning eyes.

So, which of these "charmers" won me over? Tune in next time to find out!