Retro Post: Do you think he'll call?

I originally wrote this as a facebook note in 2009.  Mock away. It is also the piece which birthed the name of this blog.

I don't date often.

There are several reasons for this, although topping the rather long list of "Reasons Tara Does Not Date" is simply the fact that I don't get asked. Guys are visual (so I'm told), I'm not pretty (so I can see), and that puts a wrench in things. I'm not going to hold it against men for not wanting to be the guy who had to settle for the unpretty chick. Plus, given my druthers, I'd rather peel off my fingernails and plunge my raw bleeding fingertips into rubbing alcohol than play the dating games.

I've never been good at the game playing of dating. If I follow "The Rules", I'm supposed to hide the fact that I have intelligence, passions, or opinions until I've got a fella well and truly snared. And, even then, I'm supposed to nod and giggle and behave as if I'm ashamed that I've got a brain.

If you know me, you know I have a genetic inability to smile and nod passively, or to refrain from having an opinion. The things I think of as the good parts of me...my ability to think and my passions...are, supposedly, the very two things which...other than my looks...make me highly undesireable as a lifemate. Dating, I've found, can thus be unpleasant for the likes of me. It should be no surprise that I try to avoid it. I have, however, noticed that dating is a prelude to most relationships, and that a relationship is usually a prelude to marriage and family. Since I'd like to have the marriage and family, it stands to reason that I must suffer through the dating phase of the process.

And suffer, I have.

In the rather recent past, I sucked up my pride and went on a date. The fellow seemed harmless, a decent and respectable sort of guy. They always seem that way, right up until The Date. I did "The Rules" thing and waited patiently until he suggested meeting for dinner. I followed "The Rules" and wore a skirt, even. And heels. I freaking wore heels.

He started off by arriving late. Not very late, only about 10 minutes or so...and I was willing to grant him leeway because, as a single father, he DID have to drop his little girl off at the babysitter's house. He was wearing jeans. And a faded tshirt. Okay, I won't judge that...I just wish I'd known, so I could've worn jeans too.

We get seated, start looking over the menu, and he says "Well, I ate at home with my daughter, so I probably won't really order a full meal."

Wait...whaaaaa??? You invite me out to dinner, eat at home instead, and then expect me to eat while you watch?

I think my stunned expression chastised him just a bit, because he *did* end up ordering a sandwich.

After we ordered, his cell phone rang. I don't blame him for checking the caller ID, after all, it could have been the babysitter calling about his daughter. And, as he answered the call without even a glance of apology thrown in my direction, I figured it WAS the sitter. Then I heard him chatting and realized it wasn't his sitter...it was another family member calling from vacation to chat. For more than 5 minutes he participated in this conversation, even telling the person he was "out to dinner".

At this point, I've pretty much figured this is a no brainer...but I'm too polite to just get up and leave someone sitting there. Plus, I wanted to give him a full chance. We all make mistakes and, let's be honest here, a girl like me really can't afford to be overly picky. So, I waited. And waited. And waited until finally he finished his leisurely chat and hangs up the phone. "That was my sister," he explained. "She's on vacation."

Yeah, I wanted to say, I *got* that because you had a whole conversation with her and, since we are the only two people sitting at this table I had nothing to do but listen to your conversation. Instead, I nodded, expecting a bit more...but no. That was it. Not even an apology. It did not take long to realize that this fellow is not particularly skilled at conversation or social graces.

Anyone who has ever had to spend much time in my presence knows this: I can strike up a chatty conversation with a brick wall. In fact, if some of my hazier college memories are at all accurate, I have done exactly that. I'm sure you can understand my surprise at being completely unable to spark a conversation with this fellow.

"Okay", I thought, "I'm not entirely clueless. The fact that he's more riveted by the baseball game on TV than by my supposed charms most likely means that, well, he's just not that into me. Especially since he's already commented...twice...that the game is a REPLAY of the game he WENT to the day prior."

I probably could have predicted this predicament when I asked him prior to the baseball induced silence, in a desperate and pathetic attempt to get him chattering, "So, what kind of movies do you like?" and his answer was,

"Action."

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Yep. Just that. "Action." That's all. No elaboration. I tried for elaboration. "What kind of action movies?"

"Just...action."

Swell.

I should give him some credit, though. He certainly was able to talk about his former wife during the commercial breaks...and her heroin addiction that he never noticed until she overdosed. Seriously? I mean, I'm not an expert...but if you're living with someone, and married to them, and they're caring for your tiny baby...how do you MISS a heroin addiction? How do you not put together the missing items, missing money, neglected infant who was born with drugs in her system, and track marks as, you know, CLUES?

He was also able to cobble together enough words to ask me, "So, how much money do you make?"

Honey, there's a lot I'll do on a first date...but telling you my income is *not* one of them.

Mercifully, the arrival of our food helped dull the ache of the missing conversation. As we finished up, I figured I could put us both out of our misery. "Oh, wow, look how dark it has gotten outside, I wonder what time it is? Wow...it's getting late...probably time to get going!"

You know, in a normal life in a normal world that statement would have been answered with, "Wow, yeah, you're right. Geeze, I need to go pick up my daughter..."

But, this is MY life, which never, ever, ever, EVER goes simply or according to normal. Rather, he looked at his watch and said, "Well, actually...we can stay for another hour or so before I have to go get my daughter."

I wanted to cry. In fact, I think it shows remarkable growth and restraint on my part that I neither cried nor mocked him for that. At least, not to his face. Because in my head I was snarkily saying, "Well, thanks be to God for that, because I couldn't bear to miss one second of your wit and articulate views on the world."

I mean, come on. REALLY? He shows up late for a dinner date, having already eaten his dinner, dressed sloppily, is alternately distracted and inarticulate thus giving the impression that he'd rather be oh, I don't know, clubbing baby seals rather than suffering through my company, I give him the easy way out of this disaster and he says, "No, let's stay?" Really? REALLY?! That's just craptastic.

And, were I as suave and sophisticated in real life as I am in my imagination, I would have coolly said, "Well, enjoy the rest of the game. I've got a busy week ahead of me and need to get going. Nice meeting you." Then I ever so gracefully would have walked out.

This, I did not do. Instead, being me, I just nodded and said, "Um, yeah...okay" and put my keys back into my purse. I could probably say I was trying to hide my intelligence, as per "The Rules" but, quite frankly, I really am that stupid.

When it was finally, finally, acceptable to him for us to end the farce, he glanced at the folder with our bill in it and said, "I guess we should probably pay now." We? WTF, WE? This is a DATE. YOU asked ME. But I reached for my purse anyway, clear on the point that I'm paying for my own meal when he very deliberately pulls one...and only one...twenty dollar bill out of his wallet and flicks at it just to make it obvious that he's only pulling that ONE bill out. Just in case I didn't quite understand his intent he added, "I'll need change, I think," as he slid the bill folder over to me so I could see what I owed. I mentally calculated my portion of the bill, plus tax and tip, and pulled out the appropriate amount of cash silently thanking myself for stopping at the cash machine earlier in the day.

He carefully counted out what I had put in. He counted it again. "Did you add tip?" he asked, "That's less than half the bill."

Can I just interject something here? I overtip as a rule. I overtip even more when I've been taking up a table for an extended amount of time. So to be asked if I'd included tip or paid enough was salt in the bitter wound of an unhappy evening and I had pretty much lost all patience.

With a cold, chilly, deliberately measured voice that clearly indicated my extreme irritation I said, "Well, if you add the cost of my meal and pop together, you'll find I put in more than enough to cover my share." At his continued confusion, I added, "Your meal and beverages were more expensive than mine, and I did not factor those into my portion of the bill." The unspoken "Jackass." ending to my words was unmistakeable, I think, and he let it go.

He did, however, walk me to my car. This is supposedly the sign of a "good guy" who just might be "into you" but all I could think as we made our way across the parking lot was "I bet Ted Bundy walked women to their cars, too."

Thanks for walking me to my car, but...too little, too late.

Jackass.