Sarah Passick

Like for most blind dates, I was set up by one of my very dear friends.

And yes, I will still call her a dear friend.

This hasn’t been the first blind date she has set me up on, but I hope it’s the last.

I appreciate her thoughtfulness. I think she never wants me to be that 76-year-old maid at the end of Elm Street living in a brick house with four cats, three dogs, two fish and a partridge in a pear tree. So she sets me up.

My qualifications for the opposite sex are not fussy. When I was a freshman in college, one of my friends said, “I’ll settle for just average,” when referring to finding a guy.

For some bizarre reason that phrase has implanted itself inside my head, unable to escape. I agree, but last year I added, “as long as they’re breathing.”

A few weeks ago my friend told me about this guy, who was really nice and sweet. (You know all that warm-fuzzy stuff that makes girls melt.) So I thought, sure, I’ll go out with him thinking, really what do I have to lose?

When my dear friend, her date and I picked him up at his house, my blind date seemed normal. I mean breathing. We said hello and he said that their were two red roses laying on the counter. OK, yes that was sweet.

The roses were lying open in the sunlight without water to keep them fresh, so they were already looking wilted.

My date said to me, “Oh those things on the counter are yours. Take them.” Those things? Well, now isn’t that romantic?

Before I could thank him, he abruptly left the room leaving my dear friend and I to look at each other and wonder why we agreed to this date.

A few minutes later we hopped into the car and drove to a sports bar/restaurant. The conversation in the car was funny and easygoing.

“I’m starved”

But suddenly, the conversation turned one-sided as I heard 179 times just how starved he was. And I was thinking, boy we need to get this guy some food, or he’ll just waste away to nothing but skin and bones. Well, we didn’t get seated right away; we had to wait about 20 minutes.

I decided to interject a little humor into the evening by telling the hostess that my last name was “Rocketsteelmeyser.” I don’t like using my name in restaurants especially when they yell it over the loud speaker. My date stopped mumbling, “I’m starved,” long enough to say, “What name are we listening for?”

“I don’t know. I know it begins with Rock,” I said, jokingly.

“You mean you don’t even know your own last name?”

“I made up the name. I thought I would be funny.”

Then he said those two little words that he has uttered all night, “I’m starved.” I was about ready to give him a dinner mint or a jelly bean to help him curb his appetite but before I could, the hostess called us to our table.

Once we were seated and ordered, I thought our conversation would pick up. Boy, was I wrong. Instead of asking intellectual questions, he asked questions like “What’s your favorite color?” “What’s your favorite movie?” “What’s your favorite drink?” and so on, questions that received one-word answers and sparked little discussion. I felt like I was sitting a first grader.

My dear friend’s date was a quiet, shy, timid, bashful kind of guy. I learned that his favorite color was blue and his favorite drink was water. He could not decide what his favorite movie was.

My dear friend’s date answered every question with a “yep,” “nope,” or “OK.”

“What do you think about the war in Afghanistan?” I would ask, trying to spark some intellectual conversation, obviously without success. His reply, “yep.”

Finally after months our food arrived. I thought to myself, oh good, I don’t have to talk, just eat. Since no one else wanted to talk, we gulped our food down. My date was finished with his meal in about 45 seconds. He waited impatiently, stirring and stirring his drink and asking us what we wanted to do next. As you can see, he was a true gentleman.

Our two dates got up from the table and walked quietly to the car, leaving my dear friend and I still in the booth. I thought the building was on fire because my dear friend and I were still getting out of the booth and they were out the door, practically in the car. What was their hurry?

The moment we got into the car, my date asked, “So what are we going to do now?” Well, I was about ready to call it a night when my dear friend, who avoided my evil glares, said we should go to the mall and just hang out. Aghhh!

When we got to the mall, my date asked again, “So what are we going to do now?” I was on the verge of insanity with his dumb, annoying questions. So instead of answering his question I bolted for the comfort of a warm environment, a place where no men were allowed…yes I bolted for the closest women’s restroom, and my friend followed.

After relieving ourselves (no pun intended) from the company of our dates for a few minutes, we were ready again to tackle the next half of our wonderful, never-ending date. The moment we walked out of the restroom, my date asked, “So what are we going to do now?” I said, abruptly, “I am going to the Disney store.” And I did.

Of course they followed only to sit on the benches outside the store like little old men waiting for their wives. They waited around ten minutes and left.

We caught up with them at a jewelry store; they were looking at wedding rings. (Yes, my dear friend and I were wondering why too.)

“Why are you looking at wedding rings?” my dear friend said.

“Well they are on sale, so when I meet the perfect girl I will already have the ring,” my date said, abruptly.

“Do you have a girl yet?” My dear friend said, trying not to laugh.

“No,” he said, boorishly, “The rings are on sale, that way when I meet her I will already have the ring.”

Now, I have never been engaged nor have I ever been in a relationship that would include the step in the wedding-ring-buying process.The ring comes after the first date. Is this a safe assumption or am I wrong?

The incident at the jewelry store, I believe, was the climax of the date. Everything went down hill from there.

After about 40 minutes in the mall, we decided to see a late movie. Will this date never end? I kept thinking.

My date shouted obscenities at the screen and finally that subsided, only to be filled by a loud, obnoxious snorting sound. Have you ever sat next to someone that sounded like a boar in a sow lot? It was that. I forced myself not to crawl underneath the seat in front of me and die. (I really wanted to die.)

Finally, the date drew to an end and on my way home, I decided that I really don’t care if I ever go out on a blind date ever again. If I do turn into that 76-year-old maid who lives in a brick house at the end of Elm Street with her four cats, three dogs, two fish and a partridge in a pear tree, I will be happy. For I never will have to hear those words, “So what are we going to do now?” ever again.

But then again, I am sure someone will train my partridge to utter those words, just to drive annoy me.