I may have noted before that I am shallow. I think that needs reiterating, as I am going to regale you with one of the shallowest moments in my dating history. I am not a thin girl; in fact I reference my size in the title and tag of this blog. I’m ok with that. However, there are limits to my acceptance.
Summer last year, it was hot as hell and twice as dry. IC messaged me on a familiar free site, and he was very friendly. His photo was nice, and he had a good smile. He enjoyed most of the same things as I did. He’d never been married, and he had no children. In fact on my list of must haves he wasn’t rating too shabby. He had a job, and didn’t live overly far away from me. It was a good sign that things might possibly work between us.
I was prompted to check out his profile by the initial contact. It was a pleasant change of course.
IC: Hi I live near you, I like your profile, and I too enjoy movies, Star Trek, and cuddling on the couch! I have a full time job at [place of employment] So I work a lot of hours, but when I’m off, I enjoy hanging out with friends. I hope to hear from you soon.
I wrote back and we began talking in earnest. We exchanged pleasantries and started to delve deeper. I found out that he had a roommate, and that the roommate had a daughter. We talked of authors we enjoyed and he had a fondness for vampire romance novelist Lyndsay Sands. Now that was a shocker for sure! A straight man, enjoying the romance genre?! Granted her stories do sometimes read more erotic fiction than romance, but I digress.
So we began to speak on the phone sometime later. Days would pass and stories were shared, and I was enjoying just having the friend to talk with. Then the question came that I both seemed excited and scared about.
IC: Would you like to meet?
I thought it over and finally agreed. We got along great on the phone, Why not?
(Yes I realize there’s that “why not?” aspect again…)
We decided to meet up at a small scale yogurt shop. It was quaint and intimate, and I was rather excited to meet IC. I was expecting the man from the profile to walk in. Cute with muscles, not many mind you just a little hint of bicep behind his slightly chubby exterior.
What I got was a shock. In walked a man who jiggled when he walked. He wore a worn t-shirt, and sometime in his life he’d thought to cut the sleeves off. I’m sure just about everyone has done this at one point or another, a favorite band tee ripping at the seams, so you turn it into a sleepshirt. Well the fun thing about cotton t-shirts are as they age, they grow bigger and bigger, before eventually falling apart completely.
This was the case with his shirt. The arm holes hung down to his hips, and with each step you could see each fat roll flopping. Let’s just say it left nothing to the imagination, and there were no biceps.
His shorts! I could write paragraphs on the gym shorts he wore. They hung down to his knees and his calves were the size of my middle. I still found myself walking over and introducing myself, as we’d planned this meet, and I’d be gracious, if it killed me.
We had sundaes, (I like sundaes), sat at a table, and began to talk in earnest. I stared into my sundae for a bit, until I could muster gazing into his eyes. That threw a screeching halt to any conversation. I had no idea which eye to look at.
You can’t make this up. His clothes showed a body that actually looked like an ice cream cone melting, quickly, he had a severely lazy eye, and he himself was wearing crumpled gym clothes for a first meeting.
I can’t remember if we said anything after we sat down or not. It was as if I were being punked. I kept looking around for Ashton Kutcher, or to take it back further the Candid Camera crew. Alas, no I was just on another episode of Maddy’s Dates from Hell.
I finally found my exit, and rushed from the shoppe. I drove back to my house, and mentally made a note to either write this down, or phone a friend. At the time I chose the latter. I remember recanting the story to a friend and stating, I could have handled the clothing, or the eyes, or the body type, but not all three.
He obviously wasn’t interested, else he’d taken the time to get dressed. Oh well, another date, another blog right?