The Blind Date

Last summer, I was with a friend (who will remain nameless) and her dad (who will also remain nameless) at a party for some other friends (who shall also remain nameless). The friend’s dad (hereafter referred to as Tom) asked me if I was dating anyone and I said no and he said he knew someone he wanted to set me up with. I began to drill him, joined by his daughter (hereafter referred to as Lucy) and was really able to get little out of him. I later realized that it was because he knew that it was a bad idea. At the end of our conversation, all I know is the guy’s name, where is from, who he works for, and that he has my phone number-courtesy of Tom.

Lucy and I “facebooked” this guy later and he actually “friended” me before I had the chance to so much as type his name. Lucy and I decided to scope out the situation and the next day headed over to Tom’s place of work to eat lunch have lunch and just happen to meet this guy-who just so happened to work for Tom.

Long story short, he called me. We decided to go out to dinner. He asks me for some restaurant ideas since he was not from my neck of the woods and I gave him several. He decided on a nice Italian place.

I rather anxiously await the night. I had never been on a blind date, of sorts, and I was somewhat eager to see what would happen. I didn’t have to wait long to find out. The night arrives and so does he; wearing khaki shorts, an over sized polo, tennis shoes, and tube socks. As I see him walking up my sidewalk, I wrestle with the ever so important decision to change into more casual clothing to match his attire or to stay appropriately dressed in my chosen outfit. I decided to stay dressed the way I was and opened the door to greet him. After introducing him to Surls and putting the pup away, we headed off to dinner in his car.

The food was fantastic. And I loved every bite. I had ravioli. And I loved it. I really did. The bread was good too. And I enjoyed my diet coke. And I know he enjoyed talking about his mother, real estate, and how much his college Alma mater meant to him.

After dinner, he decided he wanted to see the Springer. Not the inside, just the building. So, we drove downtown and literally looked at the building before driving back to my apartment where we proceeded to sit in his car for the next thirty minutes talking about his mother, real estate, and how much smaller, isolated, and better his college was than LaGrange College. I have to admit that I used the dog as an excuse to get out of the car and end the evening.

I called Lucy and Tom and recalled the evenings events to them, much to their amusement and laughter. Tom admitted to knowing that it probably wouldn’t work, but wanted to show this poor fellow a good time in a new town.

I must not have made that great of an impression either. He never called again.