This week on “The Chew,” the hosts discussed a new device for the person on a date called – “les miserables.”  It’s a bracelet that can be worn by either men or women.  When needed, the wearer merely taps it, which signals his or her cell phone to ring.  Once answered, an emergency is feigned and the date magically ends!  This brought back memories of an evening  I had years ago.  An acquaintance suggested I go out with someone from her office.  He and I were the same nationality so (using her fractured logic) she knew we would be perfect together.

There were omens the evening would be disastrous.  While getting ready, the zipper of my dress got stuck.  I ran  to my neighbors to get help, and while she was fixing the problem, her dear little dog peed on my leg.  I didn’t have another pair of hose, so back home, stuck my leg in the shower.  Of course my hair and dress got wet in the process, so I had to change clothes, then dry my hair, leg and hose with the hair drier,

The door bell rang and there he was.  Apparently he had been told him that if a little bit of after shave is good, the entire bottle is even better.  OMG!  My asthma was kicking in.

Rule number one for blind dates is: meet for coffee or drinks.  That can take 20 minutes, maybe less.  Unfortunately this was a dinner date.  I could be held captive for more than an hour.  Over dinner, he suggested so many plans for future dates.  My responses were “oh really,” or  “perhaps,” or “that sounds interesting.”  Trust me, nothing he said was interesting!

After dinner he ordered espresso and Sambuca and that’s when he uttered words I will never forget (and believe me I’ve tried).   He must have gotten the line from some Grade B (or Z) movie.  He leaned back, one arm over the back of his chair and said, “Some day, I don’t know when, but some day, I’m going to make love to like you’ve never been made love to before.”

Seldom have I ever been rendered speechless.  I just stared at him.  While my voice was silenced, my brain was still working. It kept shouting, “Only if you’re a necrophiliac!”

As he drove me home, my mind was racing.  “How can I get rid of him.”   Where was that bracelet from the future?  The “goodnight kiss” was a struggle of epic proportion which I refer to as “the dance.”  He wanted the evening to last, I wanted it to end.  I tried moving away, he kept following. I tried pushing him away, he held firm.  So, with a quick cha cha side step, I moved forward, twisted and swung my foot around driving the heel of my shoe right through his sock and into his ankle!  “Oh, I’m so sorry.  Are you OK?  You better go home and soak  that.”

Then quickly I moved to the “piece de resistance!”  A quick pirouette, and I unlocked the door, with a second spin moved inside my apartment, closed the door and locked it again.  The judges from “Dancing with the Stars” would have been proud!

The date from hell was over!

5 thoughts on “THE DATE FROM HELL

  1. WOW!!! Talk about serendipity—how did you know that I was into necrophilia? I keep watching the obituaries to see when we can get together.
    Your date


    1. Nope. You didn’t have anything to do with it. Although I believe you called as I was getting ready to go…somewhere between the dog peeing on my leg and drying my hair and hose.


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