I went on a date this past weekend, we seemed to mesh really well and, frankly, she looked beautiful. So, I had decided to break my 30-mile rule when it comes to dating or hooking up and proceeded to get cleaned up to embark on my 80-mile journey. Big. Mistake.
Allow me to explain a bit more about this mistake. I keep a 30-mile rule about dating or hooking up, and rarely break it. This rule keeps me from wasting time or money. When the time comes for either, I have a process that takes a bit for me to implement. First, haircut and styling a couple of days beforehand. Usually when I'm not expecting a date or hookup I keep a rather unkempt look, my hair gets long, my beard grows however it wants to, and the pubic hair closely resembles the Amazon rain forest. After the haircut comes the beard shaving and genitalia deforestation, which is tough because I have thick, wiry hair that requires multiple passes. After the hair removal and styling, comes the shower; another 20 minutes worth of scrubbing, minimum. Now it's time to finally get dressed. I personally prefer nice, dark blue jeans, a black button front dress shirt, and some steel toes that heavily resemble dress shoes. I keep the accessories to a minimum, usually choosing nothing more than a black paracord bracelet. This process, excluding the barber, is a good two-hour long one, which is why I keep the 30-mile rule and make sure I only leave the house if it's a sure thing.
The woman in question we will call Sarah for the purpose of this blog. She appeared very buxom and beautiful from her pictures and seemed to have the personality to boot. Sarah seemed to have some class in her, along with some of the backwoods fun that is expected to be found in the area. To describe Sarah as she represented herself to me: a taller young, ebony, vixen, with a damn near perfect hourglass figure. There were certain points that we didn't mesh on: she enjoyed country music sometimes. Country music just makes me want to kill myself. She was somewhat religious; I am not. Neither of these things rose any red flags. Seems like those years of being a somewhat good guy were about to pay off, and if they didn't, well, from what the request to bring some condoms implied, I'd probably have a nice new notch in the belt.
After driving for 80 miles, I pull into a local McDonald's parking lot to punch her address into my phone, telling her I'd be there in 5 minutes. "Turn left onto Cherry Road," my GPS chimes in, and as I do I see the a-typical white trash home in front of me. I wince a little bit at the scene, as it seems to be something out of a bad political cartoon; peeling white paint on the wood siding of an old home, no garage door, just a blown out tarp covering the top of it, rusted car engine hanging in the tree. Children running around screaming, with a man in his mid-30s wearing a stained wife beater, holding a beer and smoke in separate hands telling them to "calm the fuck down." "At next stop, turn left, your destination will be on the right," my GPS chimes in again. Breathing a sigh of relief, I did as instructed, passing this scene and putting it behind me... or so I thought.
After coming up to a dead end and checking the house numbers, I had realized where Sarah lived. Although not being one to leave a woman waiting, I turned my car around and started back to the background scene of Blake Shelton's next music video. Who came out to join me on this date was not at all what I had been told to expect. As she came to the car, I noticed she was shorter than I expected, and she chose to wear nothing more than a set of converse, some acid wash cut up jeans, a t-shirt for some rap group and more fake gold than Mr. T in his A-Team days. the curves I'd enjoyed (and, frankly, masturbated to), was one outward bowing curve on each side. She proved to be not as dark skinned as I had expected, and just kept a general unkempt look about her for our date.
Frankly, this aggravated me to no end, I was lied to through both pictures and texts. I can understand choosing not to get dressed up on a day to day life, but she looked like she just rolled out of bed, and frankly, she smelled like it, also, choosing to just douse herself in cheap perfume. Unfortunately, my character doesn't allow me to be so much of a jerk to drive off before the date even begins, leaving her like that. "Maybe her personality is stunning and it will make up for this clusterfuck," I thought to myself as she hopped in my car. We proceeded to drive to a local Mexican restaurant and sat down to order.
This woman had no personality, unlike when we were texting. Speaking of texts, she would constantly be on her phone texting other people, meanwhile I've been feeling my phone vibrate almost nonstop since we sat down, but politely ignoring it. During our conversation, between text messages, she brings up children. I made my stance on children very clear:: I do not want any at this time, as I will not be able to give them and myself a decent standard of living. To which the following conversation ensues: "Well you never know, accidents happen." "Not with me. The first time is condoms and the pull-out method. Afterwards, we will schedule some sort of long time contraception such as a shot, or something else if you prefer. Just not the pill." "Well the shot makes you fat, and you never know, something can always happen, and your mind will change when they're your children," she says. After her first "accidents happen" line, some red flags were raised, now the moon is covered in them. "I plan on getting a vasectomy when I get hired on at my current job. they're supposed to be reversible, and I can always put some boys on ice if the time comes." "Well, that's just a stupid way of doing it, especially since its so expensive. And what will you do if you ever want kids?" Thank anything that our food arrived at that time, because I didn't have the energy to continue this debate. I then proceeded to stuff my face for the next few minutes in a vain attempt to prevent a conversation. "So, how do you like working a night-shift job?" she asks. I quickly swallow with an audible gulp in an attempt to dissuade any further conversation. "It's fine, I just don't like how it makes my Circadian rhythm go all wonky," I quickly reply before shoveling more of my burrito into my pie-hole.
We finish our meals, and although I make it a general rule not to verbally flag down a waitress. these were extenuating circumstances. When we reached the checkout, I swiped my card as quickly as I could, "like removing a band aid" I thought. Except instead of doing it quickly so I wouldn't notice the pain of my hair leaving me, I did this swipe quickly so I wouldn't notice the pain of 35 hard earned dollars leaving me. Needless to say, I was not successful in this attempt. It was at this point in time I just wanted this date to end. NOW. We quickly loaded up into my vehicle, and I drove 10 over the two miles back to her house to drop her off. "I had a great time and hope we can do it again sometime," Sarah says with a parting smile to me. After all this time, I still can't bring myself to be a bad person. No matter how much I didn't like her, no matter how much I felt wronged, I couldn't bring myself to be rude. "I'm sure our paths will cross again," I bring myself to say with a forced smile. And so, we parted ways.
During the drive home, I proceeded to drive 10 mph faster than the limit, not wanting to waste any time in putting the miles between us. All 80 of them. I had my Spotify playing as loud as I could through my car speakers, and chain-smoking as if I had this fear that I would look over my shoulder and she would be in my backseat, trying to trap me into a family with her. When I got back to town, I had decided to go to a friend's house and hang out with them, telling them the gory details of my story as if we were scouts around a campfire. A couple days later I received a text from Sarah saying "heya handsome". I didn't reply and have yet to receive further communication from her. This entire experience has solidified my 30-mile rule, and I doubt I will be breaking it in the future.