“Rock, paper, scissors! You ready?” Frankie exclaimed with a goofy grin just as the waiter set down the check.
“You”ve got to be kidding me,” I nearly scoffed.
Frankie”s pudgy face drooped. He slowly lowered his hands, previously poised for a theoretical battle of inanimate objects, and rested them on the table in front of him. He wasn”t kidding about this pawning-off-the-check business.
I stared at him with defeated eyes, suddenly drained from the evening I”d just endured. Nothing about this had been a good idea. His car had reeked of sour milk and dinner had been full of conversation about clothes for pets (specifically hairless cats, of which he had four). Suddenly, all my tolerance was gone. Frankie needed to not only take the damn check, but he also needed a reality check.
David Black | Rawr
But first, you might be wondering how I ended up on a date with this socially inept loser. To answer that, I have to be honest.
I am very, very lonely.
At 30 years old, it is a surprise when my mother doesn”t call me every other day to see if I have any dates lined up for the weekend. I can”t blame her – she only wants me to be happy and hopefully give her some grandchildren, but I am insanely picky.
I once had a relationship end after two years because I could no longer handle my boyfriend”s incessant need to eat almonds. Almonds – after every meal, before breakfast, as a midnight snack. I grew to resent those stupid little nuts with such passion that I broke it off. But now, three years later and at 30 years of age, compromise doesn”t sound so bad.
When I decided it was time to try my luck at relationships again, I went out with the one guy in my office that paid any attention to me. When I say attention, I mean that he wrote me small notes with smileys on them and always held the door open for me. (Let”s just say my standards have lowered). Frankie seemed sweet enough, and only mildly awkward, so when he asked me out last week I”d set my sights high “¦
“¦ Only to see them drowned in miserable attempts at cat jokes and the three chocolate mousses he ordered – for himself.
It was when Frankie decided that the check (for which he accounted for three-fourths of the food ordered) would be given to whoever between us lost rock, paper, scissors, I let loose.
“I only went out with you because I felt sorry for you,” I stated, voice unwavering.
“Well that”s not very n–,” he started, but the floodgates had opened.
“For the love of God, Frankie, clean your car! It smells like something died in there! And make some friends! Hairless cats are disgusting! And in Jesus” name, PICK UP THE CHECK!”
With that, I aggressively stood from the table, causing Frankie to jump back like a frightened child. I didn”t bother to listen to his pleas and apologies. I was at the door before he could choke out a single word.
Once outside, I realized I was seven miles from home with no mode of transportation but my pathetic attempt at sexy, date-night heels. I bent over to undo the small buckles and take them off so I could start my long walk home, when suddenly I heard someone behind me shout.
“Hey! Linda!”
My body tensed, thinking it must be Frankie, ready to grovel and ultimately make me feel awful for what I”d just done. But upon turning around, I came face-to-face with my almond-loving ex-boyfriend.
“Where are you going? Do you need a ride? I was just wondering about you the other day!”
In that moment, just as paper would beat rock or rock would beat scissors, almonds beat hairless cats – by a long shot.
Lyndsie Kiebert can be reached at [email protected] or on Twitter @lyndsie_kiebert