Yup - all that.
It's tricky, The World of Dating.
It's tricky, in that you forget how much it sucks cow ass to go out there and spend time with
Being a chic in The Dating World is much like being a bear in a climate that is mostly winter.
We spend more months out of the year in hibernation than we do actively participating in dating.
And for good reason.
It must be all the grogginess that makes us forget how awful it is. We wake up from our long slumbering period and "put ourselves back out there" and are usually asked out fairly quickly by seemingly attractive and normal men. What we seem to forget is that these "seemingly attractive and normal men" are most likely single for a reason... Such as the last three men I let take me out who engaged in the following charming dating tactics:
The first one called me before I was even out of the parking lot to ask me why I was mad at him.
Now, to be clear, I had done nothing to give this dude any reason to think I was mad at him. Truth be told, until said phone call, I had every intention of seeing him again. But here, a mere thirty seconds after we'd said 'goodnight', dude is ringing me to find out what he's done wrong.
That's when we, as chics, want to tell you to call your mother and talk to her about it because clearly you still need her.
The second one actually said to me right after we met, "Oh! I'm so glad you aren't FAT!"
Wow.
Really?
Well thanks.
He then went on to talk about all of the "fat chics" he'd had the unfortunate experience of having to spend time with as well as knocking pretty much every other chic he'd been out with who wasn't fat.
Why?
Because he found himself either (a) not being called back after a date [shocker?] or (b) being stood up.
Now, while I do possess The Manners, which keep me from doing such rude things as standing one up or blowing them off, I could actually see how it was that other chics didn't feel as though he deserved such a common courtesy.
Now, the winner here? Mister Third Guy?
Yeah, he BIT. ME.
Bit. Me.
You read it right.
Dude bit my neck. And not like a sweet little foreplay type bite, like an I'm-a-fucking-vampire type bite.
He left a bruise.
A bite mark bruise.
And while I am no prude by any means, I don't like for my neck to be bruised post-date.
He almost won out over the guy who tried to french kiss my NOSE. The first time the dude kissed my nose, I thought maybe he missed and was embarrassed and so I wasn't going to add insult to injury... but the second time he tried to tongue my nose, I was out of there.
That all takes about a month and then, we head back into our caves.
To hibernate.
Which, dear readers, is where my ass is headed.
Labels: Being a Chic, Dating
