Have you seen that movie Must Love Dogs? Yeah... me neither, it looked like it sucked. (What the hell happened to John Cusack? He has been doing a ton of that cookie-cuttered romantic comedy CRAP lately. I miss you, Martin Blank!)
Anyway, Must Love Dog's basic premise is that some chick writes in her personal ad that the guy "must love dogs". That's basically all you need to know, you don't need to see the movie now. (I swear to god this is leading somewhere...)
Anyway, that reminds me of a date I had about a year ago...
I met this guy in the wonderful world of online-dating and he seemed fairly normal, although he was probably too old for me at 30. Okay, and by "too old" I mean boring... because I've met 30 year olds that I got on with very well. And by "too old" I also mean he looked more like 45. Because of this guy, I now realize that 27 or 28 should be my age cut-off because a substantial portion of my thoughts/interests/hobbies revolve around things that are generation-specific. (But then... I always see "older" guys that are still totally hot and I don't even believe they are not under 28!! So... I have no idea what to do still.)
Anyway, we talked a bit and then decided to meet for lunch. (I really think that lunch is the best first date. It is just casual enough to be not be overwhelming for either party, and it leaves the entire evening open for bitching or squealing to my friends.)
We met at Ahmad's Persian Cuisine in the Old Market. As I have stated in a previous dating story, this is my favorite restaurant. The guy shows up in this huge old Cadillac, a true pimp car, the kind that my grandparents wouldn't even drive because it's so ugly and dated. I am a fan of old cars, believe me, but this one was just a joke. Of course I'd never judge a guy solely on his choice of vehicle, so I pushed the thought away.
Then I see him, and he's wearing a silk shirt with corduroy pants and, the icing on the godawful cake, socks and sandals.
This was in winter, people. There was snow on the ground. It was well past time to put away the sandals, not add socks to them. I know you love your sandals. I love sandals too. But I know when it's time to say "bye bye now, see you next spring".
Also, I am not knocking corduroy itself. I have a cute corduroy purse, my winter coat is corduroy, and I think corduroy blazers/jackets are sexy on guys in a retro/indie rocker/Sherlock Holmes kind of way: But I am saying that in pants-form it reminds me of my grandpa. That is all.
The silk shirt... should be self explanatory. Guys, if your shirt is more reflective than your date's shirt, then you have already failed. If you are not currently performing on a broadway stage then you have no business wearing a silk shirt. Period.
This is when I wonder to myself if Mr. Socks-and-Sandals here has ever had a girlfriend in his entire 30 years. See, a perpetually single guy will continue to wear these horrible things simply because there is no nit-picky shrew around to say "Good GOD is that what you're wearing?!" And believe me, you would have screamed that in your head if you saw this guy.
Anyway, so I decide to ignore the clothes, because obviously that is not what makes or breaks it. I may be a fashion-bitch in my mind, but I don't let it effect my actual judgements. (Especially when you consider that I have dated a cowboy.)
So, we're chatting over dinner and he remarks that the food is "not as good as his mother's". Oh man. Okay, I get that your mom was a great cook, that's great. But uhh, this isn't your mom's spaghetti and meatballs from scratch, this is Persian food from a very ecclectic and romantic restaurant. If you think this food isn't good enough, wait til you find out that I can't cook. So I tell him that I can't cook, because I figure it's about as good of time as any.
He says: But... you are going to learn, right?
He says it very slowly, as if I am completely useless to him without knowing how to make meatloaf just like his mommy.
Uhm... not for you, jerkface. I'll learn when I wanna learn, damnit. And when I do, it won't involve any meat, so you'll likely not be too thrilled about that either. I'm sorry, Mr. Socks-and-Sandals, but I am not a domestic diva, okay? I'd rather mow the lawn.
You know, I have this tiny unattainable fantasy of my future love and I working in the kitchen together at dinner time. Like, he will be making his meat-related crapola, and I will be making my microwaveable soy crap and/or side salads for both of us. And we are talking and laughing and sharing stories of our day while we make our respective dinners. It sounds kind of romantic to me, cooking together like that. I don't like the idea of one person in the kitchen making all the meals every single day. Why can't it be a fun time spent together after a long day at work? Yeah well. I can dream.
So, back to the story, I decide to change the subject and he suggests that we walk around the Old Market for a while. Only after complaining that the meal was too pricey. (It was under 25 for both of us.) When I tell him that I consider Ahmad's to be one of the more reasonably priced restaurants in the Old Market, he admits to being "stingy" and says he almost never goes out to eat because it's "a waste of money". (So, your 4 Cadillacs were not a waste?!) Oh my god.
Mr. Socks-and-Sandals is a talker (primarily about himself), which is fine with me, since I am quite shy and usually don't know what to say. I'm trying really hard to get to know him so I can find something worth liking about him, but the things he's talking about are putting me off more and more.
- He's extremely fascinated with 80's wrestlers, like Hulk Hogan and Jesse 'The Body' Ventura. Okaaaay... so everyone has weird interests, right? Totally normal although slightly quirky... right?
- He loves his 4 old ugly pimp cars more than life itself. Seriously. Who the hell has 4 cars? And not even one single practical car, just 4 completely useless and way-to-expensive ugly pieces of gas-guzzling crap.
- He really loves gardening... with his mother. SERIOUSLY!
- He likes football almost as much as his cars and mother. (I am borderline anti-sports.)
He makes a big show of being exasperated and says: You're not one of those dog people, are you?
Me: Uhm. Yes I am. (See Molly photo, stage right.)
Mr. Socks-and-Sandals: I don't get dogs.
Me, confused: What?
Mr. Socks-and-Sandals: I just don't get them. What is the point? They don't even do anything. You have to do everything for them. It's like having a baby for 15 years straight. I just don't see what the big deal is. It must be a woman thing.
Me, now trying to remember where I parked so I can easily escape this sexist dog-hating maniac: Uhhh, ok. It's not just a "woman thing". Haven't you ever heard of man's best friend? It's about loyalty and companionship... unconditional love and even more unconditional cuteness. Haven't you ever had a dog?
Mr. Socks-and-Sandals: Well, no, I've never had one before.
Me, feeling clever: But... you are going to learn, right?
Mr. Socks-and-Sandals: No, I don't see why I should have to own a dog if I don't care for them.
Me: Okay... Maybe you would if you had a girlfriend that loved them. (No response from him) So you just don't like things depending on you unless they are in Cadillac-form?
Mr. Socks-and-Sandals, perhaps realizing that I think he's an ass: Uhm, let's check out this bookstore here...
We go into this bookstore and I immediately see this book with a cover photo that looks just like Molly would have as a puppy. There's even the little grey goatee spot! (Though the spot has been growing a lot bigger now that she's 9.)
But jeez, so cute!
And... I bought it, squealingly, just to spite him.