Let me preface this story by saying that my brother is at best a prolific exaggerator and at worst a liar-liar-pants-on-fire. Anyone who has been around him for more than five minutes can attest to this. Apparently Mr. Pleasure had not noticed.
As we sat there making forced small talk over crab rangoon, Mr. Pleasure made a comment about being surprised I had agreed to go out with him. I thought he might have been being self-deprecating, so I followed up with, “Why is that? You seem like a nice guy.” Then he dropped the bomb… Well he alluded to the bomb and I had to spend about ten minutes coaxing it out of him.
Apparently after we had first met, Mr. Pleasure asked my brother about me and my brother had told him some “stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?!”
“You know, like… that you only date black guys.”
I laughed to keep from punching things.
“And that you, kind of… got around… or like, that you like to have sex with a lot of different people.”
Thank you, Mr. Pleasure; I know what it means when people who remind me of my grandpa say, “get around.” I was speechless. At first I couldn’t believe that my brother had said those things, but then I remembered who my brother was. Then I couldn’t believe someone who believed me to be promiscuous with strict black man-only dating preferences hesitated for an entire year and then asked me out anyway. How. Bizarre. There was no second date.
(Side note: I was still a virgin at this point in my life. Maybe a make-out slut, but I don’t know if many would classify me as promiscuous then. And I had dated literally every race of man who had asked. Pacific Islander is the only census racial category that has evaded me thus far…)
I think we might need some of the ladies who have dated Breezy’s brother to submit some stories. You know, since he clearly has a penchant for the “decorated” truth.
Lastly this week, we have Kelly from Arkansas’ most recent dating nightmare. It’s never a good sign if the guy you’re on the date with isn’t quite sure how many kids he might have.
Him: “Do you have any kids?” Me: “No, do you?” Him: “Weeeellllllll, maybe one, possibly two. I haven’t talked to her in awhile.” He described how he cheated on his live-in girlfriend with a married co-worker. Completely appropriate first date conversation topic. He berated the poor hostess and waiter. I wanted to crawl under the table. He was in a boy band. And bragged about it. He showed me prom pictures. From 1993. Check please. Oh, and next time I saw him, he proceeded to tell me that I was one “fresh and clean” girl. Holy cats.
Why are you complaining, Kelly? Most of us would love such an awesome compliment! It proves we shower regularly and have a decent grasp on hygiene and deodorant and… stuff.
One woman’s horror story is another woman’s walk in the park. If you think you can top this, email me. Do it: email@example.com