My mom and I have a ton in common. We have the same hair, same eyes, same laugh, and same smile. We share beliefs, dreams, and goals. She’s one of my best friends.
Where we don’t agree on and probably never will is relationships. Personally, I hate anything long-term. She only knows about long-term. She met my dad her freshman year, dated him all through college, and then lived a real ring by spring fantasy. I’ve never had a boyfriend make it to spring. The longer I go without a steady relationship, the more hell-bent she becomes on trying to find me “the one.” So after three months of dodging her questions about boys, I probably should have seen her little bomb looming on the horizon. Instead, as I stopped over in my hometown for a weekend before leaving for spring break, I was blindsided.
“So, remember that friend from bible study I was telling you about?” she asked all too innocently, “well, I mentioned that you would be in town for a couple of days this weekend and so is her son!”
I was mortified. If I thought the pity party I was throwing after a month long dry spell was dark, nothing could have prepared me for the self-loathing that comes from being set up by your mother. Believe me, nothing makes you feel like a forty-year-old virgin who can’t get a date quite like being set up with your mom’s friend’s son. But because it was easier than explaining the mysterious charges on her credit card and would probably keep her off my back for a few more months, I gathered up what was left of my pride and decided to go.
Facebook stalking revealed he wasn’t the basement dwelling murderer I expected, but actually a very normal guy. He was relatively attractive and arrived in a very nice car. He also knocked on my front door instead of just texting me to come outside and even held the car down open for me. Needless to say, I was thoroughly impressed.
He decided to take me to one of my favorite restaurants. They have amazing sake bombs and will accept library cards as forms of ID, so at this point in the date, I was genuinely starting to like the guy. Nothing he said was particularly inspired, but he clearly did his research, could hold his own against my bits and probably wasn’t planning on voting for Donald Trump. It was actually going better than most of my relationships.
That was until he led me away from the bar and cheap sake and toward a private room. Now, I’m not opposed to being wined and dined. But if a man ever reserves you a private room on a first date, that is not a good sign. There is a reason he does not want you to be surrounded by interesting people and possible escape routes. When the waiter came, I ordered a sake bomb and a glass of wine, and as I was reaching for my wallet to produce my fraudulent ID, my date decided to derail my train to Funville.
“Don’t bother, she isn’t twenty-one. We’ll both take water with no lemon, please.”
It would be one thing to have the restaurant reject my ID. That’s just proof that karma exists and I need to stop being angry at baristas for spelling my name wrong. But to have someone purposefully stop me from getting my cheap drank on, then order for me? Inexcusable. I am a very capable young woman who happens to love lemon with her water, thank you very much.
“It’s a little much to drink on the first date, don’t you think?” His voice dripping with sugar of the non-ethel variety. “It’s hard to really get to know someone if they’re falling out of their chair.”
At this point, I was ready for the date to be over. I wasn’t planning on spending my evening with someone who was interested in shaming me for my personal choices. Instead, I flagged a waiter passing the room and ordered sushi for myself while my date settled for a burger. He spent the next fifteen minute trying to make pleasant conversation while I angrily sipped my water, no lemon. Finally, he let out a sigh, reached into his coat pocket, and withdrew not one, but two, pocket bibles.
“So, my mom was telling me that you’ve been slipping in your faith, and I didn’t really believe it, but you did just try to order two drinks with dinner. I marked off a couple of passages I think you could need right now.”
I nearly spit out the water I was drinking. Not only did this motherfucker want to prevent me from having a pleasant evening with a nice buzz, he was trying to convert me.
“I think religion is a little much for a first date, don’t you think?” I bit back, wondering where the fuck my sushi was and if it was too late to ask for it to go.
He launched into what I can only assume was a carefully rehearsed speech about how I would never find peace if I didn’t repent for my many transgressions, and that not matter what I did, I could always turn my heart back to the light. In that time, we got our food and he insisted on praying before we ate. I scarfed down my food faster than I take to Taco Bell after a night of hitting the bars.
I requested a check, and instead of being a gentleman and offering to pay, we split the bill. I was so ready to get out there I would have paid for the entire dinner if necessary. We then returned to the car and headed home in silence. About half a mile from my house, he turned off the road and into an empty parking lot.
“So… do you wanna, like, fool around for a little bit?” He said, turning the car off and gesturing to his crotch.
With a sly smile, I undid my seat belt and leaned close to his ear.
“I would literally rather risk being stabbed and walk back to my house in the dark than spend another minute with you. Don’t call me. Ever.” I whispered before pulling open the door handle and getting the fuck out of there.
At least now I have a reason for never taking my mom’s advice..
Image via Shutterstock
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totalsistermove
Everything you want in a sister, sorority or biological - funny, hardworking, pretty but not in an super obvious way. Essentially, a funnier Elle Woods who is constantly having a bad hair day. Questions, concerns, videos of dogs and coupons for Thai food can be sent to totalsistermove@gmail.com
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