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The Tardy Midget: A Bad First Date

by admin | September 3rd, 2010 | 1 Comment

iStock 000006986124XSmall 200x300 The Tardy Midget: A Bad First Date

Having had little to no success (mainly no) success in the internet dating arena, I didn’t do the smart thing – stop trying to look for love and let it find me. No, if anything I actually took a step further down the road of terrible ideas: I asked my friends. Now, normally asking your friends to set you up is perfectly reasonable – who else knows you better? But you’ve really got to consider the source, and while I love them, for the most part, my friends are insane. Especially Tad. Tad is this very kind hearted, bike messenger by day, and thrash metal rocker who goes by leather face at night. Sweet as can be, but kind of off his rocker. However I’ve known him long enough that when he casually mentioned this dude Seth who’d be “the shit” for me, I caved pretty quickly and told him to have the guy call me. He did, and while his voice – soft and girlish – didn’t exactly thrill me, I wasn’t going to immediately discount him – hello, Meghan Fox I am not. So he had a date set for Friday, and while I was excited, my nerves had begun to get the better of me.

8:00pm: Oh heavens. An hour until he gets here – let the ablutions commence.

8:45pm: Okay, I’m buffed, polished, blow-dried, made up, and wearing my tallest pair of heels. I look more Mother Mayhem than Mother Goose – one of Tad’s friend, he’ll surely approve – you can always whip out the flats later.

9:00pm: It’s time!

9:30pm:….time for him to be half an hour late.

10:00pm: Yep. Yep. I’m being stood up. Oh GOD I don’t have his number. No, no that’s good, call Tad. God I want booze.

10:10: Tad says, “do a shot and mellow, he’ll be there.” DAMN YOU ROCKER-TIME!

10:20: Well it’s official. I have been stood up. It’s cool. I’ve got my best friend. Jose Cuervo.

10:40: Three shots in and I think Antiques Roadshow is hilarious. This is a new low.

11:00pm: Oh my god oh my god oh my god – the doorbell! He’s here! I am DRUNK!

11:01pm: He. Is. A. Midget. Like. Literally. DAMN YOU TAD.

11:05pm: Okay, okay, stay calm, we’re walking down the street, he seems cranky, just get a beer, call it a night – who knows – maybe he’s cool.

11:06pm:…though this does explain the voice.

11:10pm: He’s like a tiny little hipster midget! All plaid wearing with greasy hair! I wonder where he buys his clothes…whoops, wasn’t paying attention, now he’s yelling at the bartender.

11:20pm: I keep trying to make conversation, but he keeps shooting me down. Perhaps he smells the booze. Eff that noise, the dude was TWO HOURS LATE, hell if I care.

11:21: I guess I’d be a little rage ball too – he’s about to get trampled, rowdy crowd in here. Maybe if I offer to go to another bar he’ll mellow out and we can talk.

11:23: Or not. I suggested it, and he yelled, “you’re not attracted to me, is that it?” I guess he felt my high heels were making a mockery of him.

11:30: Oh crap some dude just spilled a Pabst on him.

11:31: AH! BAR FIGHT! MIDGET IN A BAR FIGHT!

11:45: Annnnnd I’ve been kicked out of my first bar. He’s angrily kicking the side of the building. I can’t just leave him like that. I’ll go see if he’s okay.

11:50: Suddenly there are midget hands on my rack. My sympathy was misread. Terribly misread. Dear god how do I detach him without harming his little person?

11:51: Annnd now he’s reaching for my nipples while saying, “Look I don’t want anything serious.”

11:55: One thing spiky heels are good for, drowning out the hitch-pitched cursing of your pint sized date as you high tail it out there.

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  1. Gilbert says:

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