Sunday, December 14, 2008

The Worst Non Date Ever


I logged onto to some dating site a few days ago and promptly found an offer from "two very hot guys willing to satisfy one woman's darkest and wildest fantasies."

So I wrote:

"Yeah, I'll take you up on your offer. When can we satisfy my darkest and wildest fantasies?"

A bit later, I received an email:

"Whoa, not so fast! Let's talk a little first. Get to know one
another. How about all this snow?"

I responded:

"Oh yeah, snow…crazy. When can you two can fulfill my darkest and wild fantasies?"

They responded:

"Wow, you're a real take charge gal! LOL. Okay well, how would you like to do this? Your place or ours?"

"How about your place? Or better yet a hotel. Let's embrace the anonymity of it all. How about this Friday night?"

A few minutes passed:

"I can do Friday night but not until after 9. I have a business party. Tom can't do Friday night at all because he's getting a root canal that day and doesn't want to be uncomfortable for our "meeting."

This was becoming what is referred to in the industry as a real "buzz kill." Root canal? What were we going to talk about next? Fabric softener? Flossing habits? Lactose intolerance?

"Okay, fine. What about Sunday night then? (Saturday night I was planning on...nothing. I just didn't want to appear too desperate.)

They responded:

"Well Tom can do Sunday night but there's an Oscar party that night I don't want to miss. Do you like the Oscars? I do."

I took a deep breath before answering:

"Actually, I don't give a rat's ass about the Oscars or Tom’s dumb old root canal. I do care about my darkest and wildest fantasies being fulfilled. And preferably rather quickly. But its obvious you cannot fulfill your promise. You're a mad disappointment." I wish no further contact.

They had the nerve to respond:

"Oh well...your loss."

I answered:

"I think I'll live."

They responded:

"You're a retard."

I responded:

"It takes one to know one."

And that's how it ended. In a blaze of juvenile insults.

I poured myself a glass of barely respectable wine and sat down on the living room couch and contemplated my situation.

I knew the next time I pursued a sordid sexual experience, it would be with two guys who would never tell me about their dental work or their love of the Oscars. The men I’d meet one imaginary night in a bare hotel room would have missed their mother's funeral for our "meeting."

They would be two strapping and serious men who take their ménage a troises seriously. Is that so much for a girl to ask? For people to take their ménage a troiseses seriously?

It’s going to be a long and cold winter after all.

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