Dont Mince Words

I retraced my steps trying to remember the exact moment I last touched my zipper.

7:30 p.m.

I went to the bathroom after dinner. Prior to flush, I became mesmerized by one of the mirror-mirrors on the wall in the women’s room of Father’s Office. I guess I forgot to zip up, but I did remember to button my jeans and flush.

It appears I spent the remaining three hours of my date with TGG (that gym guy) with my fly open. I had a black blouse on and black panties, so maybe everything blended. I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t look there or pretended not to notice.

I see London, I see France

I see Marna’s underpants

On my mother’s first date with Mr. Harris, he locked his keys in the car with the engine running and she projectile vomited. Are my date limiting gestures going to continue to get worse as I get older?

What do I have to look forward to after a downed zipper? Gapping buttons? Marinara on the boob ledge? Hanging booger?

It appears I’m genetically inclined to make my dates more interesting the older I get.

Yippee.

In the heat of passion, sometimes you don’t respond logicially to questions you’d normally respond to with a laugh or a “what the fuck.”

Now that a hand isn’t down my pants, I have time to think.

Since the 1960’s, the Pill has been a symbol of sexual freedom for women. Within a few percentage points, women could enjoy themselves without fear of unexpected motherhood. “Are you on the Pill?” became the easy way for a man to ask if he’d be making support payments in nine months. Last night I underwent a new line of questioning.

“Do you have your tubes tied?”

Let’s all say it in unison, shall we: WHAT THE FUCK? Tubal ligations are for wives that have met their quota and want to ensure they don’t have another baby with the husband they now hate. Tubal ligation is major surgery and is oftentimes performed on the way out from a caesarian.

I’m a single woman who has never had children. I’m not sure I ever want kids, but I’m not going to have major surgery to limit that option if the right man comes around (then again, I’m sure my health care doesn’t cover it anyway). I’ve used the Pill off and on for 20 years for period control, not birth control. My preferred method of birth control has been a condom or going home alone after the asshole discovery phase. That’s when I’m fit to be tied.

Have you ever been on a date and you think to yourself, “something isn’t right here.” After a good night’s sleep, I’m ready to Sunday morning quarterback my Saturday night date.

I made the seven-mile schlep to Hollywood in record time. Going to Hollywood on a Saturday night is a chore that has to have a pay off. You have to dodge tourist drivers, cruisers, and the wanna be bimbolinas that cross mid-street in hooker pumps. You don’t go there unless you have to. But, a girl’s gotta eat, so I went to get fed and to get to know the guy a little better.

I said I’d never go out with a native again. I did. But this one promised to be different. He was. He waited until this second date to tell me he wanted to trade his 04 Audi for a 05 S-class Mercedes. Most Angelinos tell you their car aspirations within the first 10 minutes of meeting.

When he parked at the restaurant, he jumped out and sprinted to the door before my car door had slammed shut. He was nearly seated by the time I caught up. This guy is 5’8”, so we’re not talking about someone who is capable of long strides. He was obviously hungry, or something, and forgot he had a companion. When he finished his meal, he asked for the check. Nice, except I wasn’t half way through my meal and I still had the fork in my hand. I eat fast, but I met my match in the culinary consumption Olympics.

On the drive back to his place, he took a few cell calls which is always annoying unless close relatives are on death watch. He mentioned he had to work on closing this one deal because the commission was $50,000. There we go. I was waiting for the old salary hint to match the car coveting.

We went back to his place to watch a movie and that’s when things got a little strange. In the first 25 minutes, he went to the bathroom three times. He was fidgety and bored by the movie. He leaned in and kissed me. I was startled by the fact I haven’t had a kiss this bad in two decades. It was as though I had icing on my lower lip and he was eating it off. There were teeth involved. I used to think the tongue down the throat was repulsive. This was worse.

I chalked the experience up to bad position/angle and continued watching the movie. He went to the bathroom two more times (these are all short trips). He yawned a few times and gave me an odd smile like he wanted to go to bed…with me in it.

“You know, the movie is a little slow and you look tired. I think I’ll just go home,” I announced.

He thought it was a good idea, but didn’t let me out the door without gnawing on my lip one more time. Teeth were clacking again. It was confirmed: he was a bad kisser.

This morning I was describing his behavior to a girlfriend who told me he was probably experiencing side effects from a sex pill like Calais or Viagra. He wanted in and out of the restaurant fast before it wore off. Is frequent urination a side effect? I mean, I could drink a keg of beer and not pee five times in an hour. Who knows? I’ve never gone out with someone who needed the little blue pill. And I’ve never gone out with someone who thought banging teeth and eating face was romantic.

I wonder how John Madden would call this play. Game over. Future dating suspended indefinitely.