On Wednesdays, Amanda Chatel will be sharing stories about her strange, fascinating and sometimes wonderful dating life. If it makes you want to date, check out TheGloss dating page.
This week we have Nikki who sheds light on exactly what it takes to be a great step-mom (she, obviously), that “low on funds” means “dessert is a must,” and apparently there’s a subculture of adult males who throw fits on porches until they get their way. As always, it’s a blast.
Last summer I met this guy at a bar while playing wing-woman with a friend of mine. He was well dressed and had great manners which, at that point in my single-hood, was pretty much all I could ask for.
The first night we met up I invited him to an impromptu hang-out at my girlfriend’s house with she and the guy she was seeing. I told him it’d be just the four of us. He shows up two hours late and brings a friend with him. The guy he brings, of course, is uncomfortable but being polite girls we don’t make it awkward, just sort of say, “Hey… come in have a drink; let’s all just hang out.”
His buddy proceeds to walk back outside, sit on the front porch, and text my guy that he “wants to leave” over and over, refusing to come back in, until my guy finally has to go, because of the awkward fit being thrown outside. My What The Fuck-O-Meter was going off, but I’d had a dry-spell so I agreed to an actual date another night. (We all have that high-drama friend we pray we aren’t judged by, right?)
He invites me out to dinner but letting me know he was low on funds which isn’t the biggest deal (I always let guys pick the place since its their wallets that usually end up paying for the meal), but then he takes me to a place that wasn’t that cheap so I try to order cautiously. I get a salad and truthfully had been trying to get back on track diet-wise so that was fine. He orders one of the most expensive things on the menu and then picks on me for ordering a salad (I thought there was a “low funds problem?”) Trying to be the least “girly” about it I just tell him I was trying to eat a little healthier attempting to breeze by it all classy-like avoiding the “I think I’m fat” tones that can be given off when ordering a salad on a first date.
Over dinner I find out about his daughter who hadn’t come up in the first two meetings, or the week and a half of texting, as well as the BOTH times he’d been to jail. (Neither of which were his fault, of course, because police just love to arrest the innocent.)
Dinner is wrapping up and he tells the waiter to bring us chocolate cake. I sort of laugh it off and tell him that’s fine but I won’t be eating any (re: trying to eat healthier.) He says he’s not eating it because he was ordering it for me… I thank him for the gesture but assure him I’d be much happier without the cake, again thinking of my waistline and the bill he wanted to keep small. He then barks at the waiter to bring the cake boxed up… super uncomfortable.
So we leave with the boxed up cake.
On the drive home to my sketchy neighborhood I was telling him a story about a fight I witnessed in my parking lot between two girls where, after one retrieved a tire iron to beat the living daylights out of the other one, I called 9-1-1. He gets upset and tells me I’m a snitch. (I guess two times in jail will teach you that.) I promptly rushed inside. Oh yeah – and tossed the cake in the trash.
After that, I stopped taking his calls and responding to his texts cold. But he still texted and left voicemails for about a month and a half after about how I was his dream girl and he’d do anything to get me back… oh and that I’d also be an AMAZING step-mom to his secret daughter. He then text-invited me to the wedding of his best friend three months after that.
Now roughly eight months later he systematically follows and un-follows me on Twitter every few weeks. He must not know that you get an email every time you get a new follower.
Someone needs to school this dude on exactly how Twitter works. Let’s hope the secret daughter got the step-mom she really needs since dad isn’t playing with a full deck, and Nikki isn’t game.
OK, now it’s your turn! Don’t make me beg on Twitter in a few weeks because I’ve run out of stories: firstname.lastname@example.org
Photo: Columbia Pictures