Case in point…
The only site that I still visit periodically is OK Cupid because I find the questions and algorithm very useful in weeding out the religious fanatics, the fetishists and the fascists. I had just taken a break when I decided jump back online changing 3 things about my approach..
- I wore a blonde wig for my picture. (I’m a brunette.).
- I chose to use ONLY a headshot. (Preferring to leave my rather ample bust out of the picture for once.)
- I did the choosing. (I’ve always made it a rule to NEVER make the first move. Men are visual. If they took a pass, I’m not going to try and “convert” anyone!)
I was perusing the website when I came across the profile of a 46-year-old who was an 85% match. He had a very sweet, almost vulnerable look about him with sensitive eyes. He also played classical guitar, which I found appealing. He popped up because he had checked me out and evidently gave me 4 out 5 stars. So I reached out to him.
We e-mailed back and forth for a couple days about our taste in music amongst other things. He was eager to meet sooner rather than later. I thought I might test his “bravado” by suggesting that he bring his guitar and we share a snack by the lake. I suggested that upon meeting, either one of us could easily bolt by just saying the word “pass”. There would be no questions asked and no hard feelings. He did not pass my “bravado” test. LOL.We opted instead to meet at a café around the corner from my apartment.
In our discussions about music, I mentioned my YouTube channel and that I was a brunette. I told him for fun I might wear the wig on our first meeting. (The wig was not one of my better ideas)
I had very little recollection as to how to wear a wig, other than you need a lot of bobby pins. I had four! After wrestling with it for 20 min., and knowing that I would be late, I would have aborted my plan. But now my hair was a disaster. I had no choice but to go with it.
As I approached the café, he was seated outside Clearly, we were checking each other out. He didn’t exhibit the usual sense of enthusiasm that I’d become accustomed to upon meeting. That was fine. I went inside and ordered fresca to join him “al fresco”. (Sorry … I couldn’t resist!)
I thought it was very sweet, when within minutes of joining him, he showed me two videos on his phone of himself playing classical guitar. Evidently he shot them shortly before leaving. He played beautifully! In fact, one of the pieces he played is in my Spotify playlist of music that I work out with several times a week.
We were off to a good start. It started to drizzle so we moved indoors. As time progressed we shared some of our dating history. (Evidently he preferred dating older women..) He was a department manager at a grocery store where he had worked since he was 16. His parents were European immigrants. He never married because he was “preoccupied” and just never got around to it.
Things were going quite well as a big storm was brewing outside with tornado warnings. I laughed about the struggles I had with the wig. It felt like it was moving around on my head at this point! Oddly enough that led to more discussions about hair. It wasn’t long before the conversation went south. Literally!
As we sat next to an enormous glass storefront, torrential rains poured down, as the conversation quickly went from dating in 2013, to Brazilian waxing, to his “dream of finding a woman with a large labia!”
WHAT? DID I HEAR THAT RIGHT? Maybe I was struck by lightning and didn’t realize it? Am I having a stroke?.
“Excuse me? Did you just say labia?” (EW!!!!)
“Yes.” He replied. “I love the labia. My fantasy is to find a woman with enormous labia!”
OMG! I took one look outside and felt like a character John Paul Sartre’s “No Exit”.
Why did he have to say that? I liked this guy. Granted, he came from a completely different socioeconomic and educational background than my own. But that didn’t matter to me if we were “simpatico”.
I tried to keep an open mind and told him that I had no intention of revealing anything regarding my vagina. Besides…
“That would be like me asking him who well endowed he was.”
“I’ll tell you. Cuz if you’re going to find out, you’re going to find out anyway. It’s not like you can keep it a secret. It is what it is!” He replied.
“Well…we can keep it a secret for now. That’s ok. I don’t need to know. And as you said, ‘IF’ (that’s a pretty big ‘if’) I’m going to find out, I’d rather it remain a mystery”.
I quickly changed the subject, asking what happened to the woman he dated for 2 1/2 years. He prefaced his response by telling me that while she had a large labia (TMI. Really? This guy is driven! ),she lived too far away (25 miles) and was African-American.
“So?”… Clearly none of these things were a deterrent for over two years.
“My mother found out that I was dating a black woman. I could see her becoming physically ill before my eyes.”
Holy crap! On the one hand it was cool to know he was not racist. On the other, he’s letting his racist mama dictate his love life? He’s 46!
So…How’s that storm looking outside???
Evidently it took years for the family to accept the fact that his sister married someone who is Irish because he “knocked her up!” It turned out that the guy was a good guy spite of being Irish. But the family had been through enough already…
Shortly thereafter I took advantage of the respite between storms. We had spent 2 1/2 hours between two storms.. He drove me home in his old thunder bird. We went through the usual “nice meeting you”…routine.
I told him “Let me know if you ever want to see me with my real hair color!” (Referring of course to the hair ON MY HEAD!)
I look back and ask myself, Really? Are you nuts? What could you possibly be thinking? I give some of these guys enough rope to hang myself!
In my own defense, I come from six generations of entrepreneurs. “Closing the deal” is in my blood! That’s fine in business. But when looking for love? It can leave you anemic!
I didn’t hear from him at all for two days. Then I received an e-mail telling me that while the mental chemistry was great, he preferred small breasted women and was not a “boob man”. He went on to share his preference for “pear-shaped women with a large ass.”
My jaw dropped and I almost laughed my ass off!
I replied telling him that I appreciated his candor and that oddly enough some men have been obsessed with my derrière.
He texted me and said, “I took a look at it, and it didn’t seem that big to me. Maybe I should take another look!”
IN YOUR DREAMS BUBBA! LOL! (I was flattered to learn that I don’t have a big ass! Well…certainly not big enough.)
(BTW, his real name rhymes with the word “kibbish”! Seriously. I responded with the following text…
So long as we’re being candid? When sex is good, I tend to be rather loud. I tried to imagine myself calling out your name in the throes of ecstasy. I just couldn’t do it!
I think it was nice that I left out the words… “without laughing”!