A little white lie never hurt anything, right?
I would hesitate to even call it a lie – it was more of an exaggeration that came back to laugh at me tonight. Ok, it was a lie – but let’s not get caught up in semantics, here’s the skinny:
Last Friday I was supposed to go out on a date with a Peruvian. I had a slight sinking feeling after I accepted the date because he is 40 and asked me out to the Olive Garden, but he’s tall and moderately attractive and he aggressively pursued me. By “aggressively” I mean he was very direct when he asked me out. Here’s one of my little secrets: I will go out with any guy that comes up and directly asks me. If he doesn’t give me a moment to think (ahem, think up an excuse) he can pretty much score my number and secure a date with minimal effort. I’m not one of those girls that has a good fake number to hand out or a sweet/sassy/tactful negative reply. If you have a good one that I could borrow/keep in my back pocket, I wanna hear it!
Undoubtably, this is what happens.
I was planning on meeting the Peruvian last Friday night at the Olive Garden. As the end of the week drew nearer, the pit in my stomach grew deeper. He’s 40. I’m 26. He should be in a very different place in his life right now that would render us with very little in common. While I recognize myself as a mature young woman who can generally hold my own, I also see that I lack a lot of relationship experience and I’m not looking for a babysitter. I was ready to grin and bear it though. Hopefully part ways to never talk again after a night of never-ending salad and breadsticks. Then, life happened. Friday was a crap day at the office. I got stuck at work until after 5 and there was no way I was in the right frame of mind to meet someone new. All I really wanted to do was wallow in the sentiment of being the only under-appreciated working adult in an entry-level position on the face of the planet and hang with someone that was easy to be around: Lindsay.
I sent Peru a message telling him that I was stuck at work and wouldn’t make it to our date and told Lindsay I was crashing her art studio that night.
Now, here’s where the bad karma comes in: not only did I lie about working too late to meet him (I could have made it to Olive Garden had I really put the effort into it) but he *somehow* didn’t get the message and ended up being “stood up” (something I felt genuinely bad about and something he made a point to try and make me feel guilty about).
The Peruvian went to my backburner
The following Thursday, I had scheduled a wine date with a Croatian doctor. If you do not know where Croatia is, do not be embarassed, for these things we have Google maps:
I was really looking forward to it. He seemed charming – not to mention foreign and a doctor!
Thursday strikes. My date is scheduled for 7 p.m. Luckily, at 4 p.m. he pushed it back to 7:30. I wasn’t going to get out of work on time. Thursday continues. At 6:45, I asked if we could move it back to 8. I couldn’t believe I was still at work with no end in sight! I left work at 7:17 pm. I sped home, changed, applied my make up and rushed to find a parking spot in downtown New Haven (not an easy chore – not even on a Thursday night.)
The irony of me literally getting stuck late at work before a date to which I was truly excited about did not escape me. The irony of not being able to find a parking spot also did not escape me. Same with running past the restaurant at which we were meeting because I didn’t want to wear my glasses.
I met the Croatian. I was a few minutes late, but I looked like a shiny new penny, so I expected him to get over it. Maybe tardiness is not to be expected in Slavic countries? He didn’t look as impressed as I had hoped.
Then, he got carded and didn’t have an ID. I told him no biggie, we’d find someplace in New Haven that didn’t card. But, he was ready to call it quits on the whole date. He felt like it was all ruined. Both of us being delayed, the waitress carding him – it was too much! He said we should just quit. I told him we’d find a new place.
I found him adorable. He had long wavy dark hair and dark eyes and lots of scruff on his face. Every once in awhile, I felt like I was out on a date with Teva, from Fiddler on the Roof, and I’d giggle. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like we had much in common.
I wanted to ask him how women in Croatia were treated. I wanted to see if it was scandalous that my head wasn’t covered in a kerchief (still thinking Fiddler on the Roof….). I wanted to ask him why he wasn’t asking me any questions about me!
Conversation did not flow easily. I ran out of appropriate questions and think that the majority of my charm and wit was lost in translation.
I chalked a lot of it up to innate cultural barriers.
I don’t expect to hear from the Croatian again. But it’s not him and it’s certainly not me. I blame that bitch Karma for this one.