We all know how much I hate Hallmark sponsored holidays. I hate the hype. I hate the in-yer-faceness of Valentine's Day. (for the record, the only made-up holiday that is worse than Valentine's Day is Mother's Day)
Soooooooooooo....
In honor of the impending lovefest, I'm going to tell you about a bad date (or two):
The first was in college. We'll call him Bob, and say that while living on campus, his parents lived about an hour away. He managed to talk them into letting him have the car, to make it a "real date." I don't remember most of the date (yes, I was sober, no, it wasn't memorable) until he tried to tell the cop that was about to write him a ticket that he was wearing contacts--his license said he was to wear corrective lenses. I should've known then what a lying ass he would turn out to be, but I was young, and stupid (WAS, people, WAS. Past tense. Don't start.)
The second was, oh, hell, in the late '90s. We'll call this one Joe. He invited me to stop by his apartment, and, in all honesty, I was lucky to make it out alive. Nothing dramatic enough to have police involvement, and certainly nothing traumatic....unless you consider that there was a very real chance that I was going to permanently stick to the furniture. Oh, and after I was stuck, that black dear-God-I-hope-its-only-mold growing in the corner of the bathroom would probably eat me.
I consider myself lucky that most of my truly frightening and skeevy encounters with people all involve working in retail, not love. But then, most of my dating history is from a time when the Weirdness Goddess thing hadn't fully kicked in, I count my cynical little blessings every February, though.
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