You know it's a bad date when you find yourself drifting out of mid-date conversation and instead writing the follow-up blog entry in your head. Internet, it was so bad. My one consolation was thinking, well, at least the Internet may get some amusement out of this. Internet, I dearly hope you're amused.
My date was quite...foppish. Ok, let's be honest. He was Niles Crane, only with more swishing and hand-flapping. He was wearing dress pants, a button-up shirt, a cardigan, and a scarf. Also, it was 70 degrees out. I was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and wondered if perhaps I should have made more of an effort. Though he did compliment my shoes.
We fought our way through the crowds in town for the regatta, only to find that Grendel's, like everywhere else, was much too crowded. I've never seen that many people in Harvard Square before, and found myself getting claustraphobic, though I was outside. We made our way to Crazy Crusts in The Garage, which was distinctly un-chic enough to keep most of the crowds away, with the added benefit of $4 pitchers of PBR. There, the situation took a turn for the decidedly worse. Though the temperature outside hovered around 70, the pizza ovens made the temperature inside much warmer. Within minutes, Foppish Guy was dripping sweat from every pore. We stood in line as he ineffectively fanned himself with his scarf. No! I wanted to scream. Don't fan! Mop and wipe! He looked as if he had dunked his entire head in a pitcher of water. It was so bad, I think the pizza guy said something to him. I overheard them as I retrieved napkins. "Hey, you're uh, sweating a bit there," pizza guy said. "Oh I know," Foppish Guy replied. "Isn't is awful?" We sat down as he continued to swish, mince, and drip his way through the date. Appetite? What appetite?
We sat there for an hour and a half; after all, we had a whole pitcher of PBR to work through. He recited Chaucer, in old English. He kept touching my arm in a quite disconcerting way. "So, do you have any plans for tonight?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah, I have to meet my roommate," I lied.
"What time do you have to meet her?" he asked.
"Oh, I have to meet her at, um, uh, at um..." (Don't look at your watch, don't look, just say a time, just say a time that will let you leave right now, just say a time) "at um, 7:00." (Look at watch. 6:25. Perfect).
We walked outside and said goodbye. "Ok, well I'm going this way," he said. Ok, In that case, I'm going that way. "It was so nice to meet you! Let's do it again!" And with a kiss on the cheek and a swish of his scarf, he was gone.
And I breathed the biggest sigh of relief imaginable.
For you, Internet. This one was for you.