Robyn Michaels’ Weblog

A Form of Greed

by Robyn Michael

© 2008, All Rights Reserved.

            I’m stuck in the blind date from hell!

My friend Kimmee recently decided that it was time I got over my ex-boyfriend Joe once and for all. She said she was tired of watching me mope around the apartment and whine about having nothing to do.  Since her boyfriend Mark worked with a lot of single men, she enlisted his assistance in finding the perfect man for me. Whoever told these two that they had any taste in picking dates should be slapped up side the head.

This is the fifth blind date I’ve been on and I swear each one just keeps getting worse.

I thought the first guy was pretty nice. Elliot showed up on time, was dressed nicely and took me to my favorite Chinese restaurant for dinner. I thought the evening was going well until the check came and he whipped out a tiny calculator and started splitting the bill, including the tip. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind going Dutch on a date, but I do like to know in advance.

The second one, Ken, was a nice enough guy, but someone should have reminded him that the local Hotdog on a Stick wasn’t the best place to take a first date. Add in the dollar movie he took me to and you have the makings of a pretty pathetic date.  Zombies on a first date are a definite romance killer for this girl.

Ron was blind date number three. I can understand why Ron is still a single man in his early thirties. Don’t misunderstand me. He’s a great guy and I think we’re going to be great friends…girl friends that is. If he ever decides to come out of the closet, Ron’s going to make some guy a hell of a boyfriend.

Number four was a good old boy and that’s okay, just not my type. Sam’s idea of a good first date was to take me to the races. He didn’t bother to ask me if I enjoyed Nascar; just decided that since he liked it, so would I. The mixture of exhaust fumes, fried foods and sweaty bodies gave me a headache that lasted four days; kind of appropriate since he was blind date number four.

Blind date number five, the hell I currently find myself inhabiting, looked to be the most promising of all.  Andrew showed up at the apartment on time and carrying a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Score one for Andrew.  He was dressed in charcoal slacks, a dove gray dress shirt and a charcoal sport coat. I was impressed. It looked like Kimmee and Mark had finally done something right. He was the perfect gentleman as he escorted me down to his waiting car, a cute little red Mazda Miata. On the drive to our destination, a lovely French restaurant with a reputation for elegance and delicious food, I began to get a niggling feeling that all was not as perfect as it appeared. 

Andrew, it seemed, loved to talk. Oh, he started out asking all the correct questions, asking me about myself and what I did for a living. The problem was that before I could finish answering him, he’d take over the conversation and answer the question himself. I soon learned that Andrew was an only child of older parents who had doted on him because he was their “miracle baby”. He’d gone to private schools his whole life, ending up graduating from Yale University because it was considered one of the best schools in the country and that was “so important, you know.”

Once we arrived at the restaurant and were seated, Andrew continued to regale me with tales of his time at University, about how he was captain of the rowing team, tops in debate, and so on and so forth. I found my mind wandering as he rambled, nodding at what I hoped were the appropriate places in his stories. When the waiter came to take our orders, Andrew ordered for both of us, something I never had been able to stand from anyone, not even my parents. I held my tongue though, desperate to get through the evening as non-confrontationally as possible. Luckily he ordered foods I could eat, instead of something nauseating like escargot.

All during the meal, he talked. I’m not sure I got a dozen words in during the entire main course. As Andrew continued his monologue unabated, I came to a conclusion. This was the last time I’d allow Kimmee to fix me up. If I couldn’t find my own date from now on, I’d suck it up and stay home.

When the waiter approached asking if we’d like to order dessert, I was quick to respond that we didn’t, all the while enjoying the look of surprise that flashed across Andrew’s face. I’d had enough and I wanted to go home. The adorable blonde waiter smiled and winked at me. He’d been by the table several times during the evening and it was obvious that he’d noticed how greedy my date was when it came to talking, as well as how obviously bored I was by it. If you wonder why I say Andrew was greedy, well you have to admit, for someone to do all the talking and not be willing to listen is a form of greed.

Andrew excused himself to the restroom while waiting for his credit card to be returned. I was happy for the momentary reprieve. The cute waiter, whose nametag read Kyle, took that moment to bring back the receipt and the card.

“So, how long have you been dating Mr. Monologue?” He asked quietly.

“Um, this was our first date.” I responded.

“Ah.”

“And, definitely our last.”

“Oh.” He smiled and his blue eyes twinkled in the candlelight. “So, what are you doing tomorrow night?”

I smiled back, suddenly realizing that maybe this hadn’t been such a bad night after all.