So my little Mystery Date post yesterday got me thinking about my own history of bad dates. For someone who's been in a commited relationship or married for 24 of the 28 years since I had my first date, it is sad that I could have had so many rock-bottom experiences in that arena. Granted, I was complicit in most of these, not only in that I agreed to go out with the losers, but also in that I was predictably intoxicated, which was pretty much the only way I socialized with men at all from the time I was 16 until I quit that at 41.
In any case, I figured it might be fun to tell a few of the stories in the next couple a days and challenge you to top them on your own blogs. You know you want to.
I'm going to start with the professors.
Dr. Childs was was my history professor at UGA, a scraggly-bearded man you couldn't pin an accurate age on because he had the pinched face and growth-stunted body of one of those guys who started smoking when they were 11. You know the kind--their 28/30 Wranglers scrunch all the way up their slightly bowed legs. In any event, he would have been between 35 and 50, I guess. For reasons best left to a future blog (involving domestic violence, a restraining order, court), I missed the final exam for his class. When I went in to talk to him about it, to see about getting an Incomplete, etc., he kindly offered to let me take the test the next day. While I was busy feeling grateful and relieved, he asked me if I'd like to go to a party with him the coming weekend.
I said ok, duh.
The party was, oddly, mostly students my age (18-19), maybe the history club or something. I don't remember. But I do remember everyone being surprised to see him with me and him acting like we were "a couple." As usual, I consumed many strong beverages to survive the evening and woke up at his place the next day (fully clothed!). All I could think about was how fast I could get out of there politely, but he had already planned out our afternoon. He fixed me breakfast and asked me to go with him to look at apartments--said he was moving at the end of the month and would like to have a second opinion on the rentals.
Go with him I did, and by the time we looked at door #3, with him holding my hand like a million dollar bill, and me finding no escape route, I suggested the place was nicer than the other two, that maybe he would enjoy living there, what with the on-premises laundromat and the highway so convenient to the back yard. At that point, he asked if I would enjoy living in that same apartment, because, really, he was looking for a place for US to live.