So, the other night I went on a date with this fireman.
Can I be a total cliche and say that it lacked anything closely resembling a spark? To be honest, I am actually surprised that I didn’t catch a chill… and then die.
Now, I know of worse dating horror stories… but did those come complete with a born and raised Californian — with a Boston accent?
I think not.
I have heard of people catching on to the way the other people talk if they are around them often enough. But seriously? I mean, are you fucking kidding me?
I almost feel bad about writing about this (almost) because the guy wasn’t a bad guy. I mean, he saves burning buildings and cats out of trees and shit. Not to mention, he was really nice to look at for a few hours. But once I started to realize I was rolling my eyes whenever he wasn’t looking, or that I was continuously distracted by his guido chain, I knew it had happened — my first BAD date.
Jesus Christ. I’ll never complain about a guy not talking enough again, because boy, he could talk! And I tried really hard, scout’s honor, to try and have a good time and be engaged in the conversation, but I just wasn’t feeling it. But don’t worry, I was more than capable of saving face so that the night wasn’t any more awkward than it already was. He probably thought I had the time of my life. But between you and me, if I had to pick my favorite part of the date, I’d say it’s a tie between when I downed my second beer and when the night finally ended.
Tip #8: Don’t judge a book by it’s cover. Even if it’s a really hot, muscley, cover.