The other night I went out on a date. It was a blind date. My first ever, I believe, in a long history of dating. But the guy came properly vetted by two friends that I trust, and so I thought, “What the hell? It’s only a dinner. How bad could it be?”
You be the judge.
Author’s Note: The following story is true. I did not make up or exaggerate anything.
Promptly at 7:30, he pulled outside my building- as we had pre-arranged.
Except that he didn’t pull into my driveway/cut-in that runs along side the entrance. He stopped his car in a “live” left hand turning lane and proceeded to get out of it to walk around and open the car door for me.
Now ordinarily, I’m all in favor of the Sir Walter Raleigh treatment. But his inability to follow simple instructions and pull his car into the driveway was causing complete chaos on Wellington. It was Saturday night and he was backing up traffic the whole city block.
Cars were honking and swerving because it was taking him awhile to go from his driver’s side around the front of the car to hand me in. Which I do not love.
Because he was slow.
Which I do not love.
Because he was old.
Which I really do not love.
This is not an anti-senior, ageism post. I have friends of ALL ages.
But when it comes to my love life, readers of this blog are well-acquainted with my little romantic quirk. I only date men who are younger than I am.
In fact, my next husband probably hasn’t even been born yet.
There are two reasons for this. First, all the great-looking, happy, funny, solvent guys my own age are married. (If they’re my age and they’re still single, there is something wrong with them.)
Second, ever since Bill, I avoid older men like the plague. They scare me, and I have never dated a guy my own age since. (Let Dr. Freud work that one out. I’m too busy going to raves, A.T.V.ing in Moab and skiing to worry about it.)
Any way, back to this old coot who got out of the car. To my horror, I took in a bad toupee- with an even worse dye job. Somewhere between Rupert Murdoch Red and Sumner Redstone Russet.
Working my way down, my glance took in the fact that he no longer had a neck. It had sunk out of sight between his shoulders. Gravity- or osteoporosis- had won that battle.
As I was forcing myself not to turn around and run back into my lobby, he was still wrestling with the car door. He couldn’t quite get it open. The word “frail” sadly leapt to mind.
But I promised myself that I would be a credit to the couple who had fixed me up. He was a friend of theirs and I wanted to behave like Jackie O. the entire evening.
I’ll skip over the fact that he got lost on the way to the restaurant. A 4.3 mile drive took him thirty minutes. Not to mention that he missed the entrance to their parking lot.
Twice.
I won’t discuss the dreary litany of the many diet do’s and don’ts he had to adhere to before he even opened the menu. For the record, I loathe that trait in a person.
TMI.
Order anything you want. Just don’t tell me that you’re a vegetarian and you “can’t eat white” and “your latest EEG was bad” and you “had a roller blade accident many years ago that put you in the hospital with a concussion and now you can’t smell anything,” and you “don’t drink,” and you “can’t have whole milk” and…
Shut up! Now I have lost my appetite.
He ordered the wrong thing.
Naturally.
And I had to come to his dinner rescue and change it with the waitress. Another thing I hate to do. I am not his mother. But if I had let his slip of the tongue go, and they had brought him the (meat-filled) ravioli he ordered instead of the (cheese-filled) sacchetti he meant to, the dish would have had to go back, and this dinner- which was already an eternity- would have taken even longer.
And here’s some sample dinner dialogue…
He: You write a what?
Me: A blog. I’m a humor columnist.
He: Well, I have to be honest. I read one story and I didn’t think that you were very funny.
Me: Really? Which one did you read?
He: The one where your father died.
Me: Yeah, you got me there. That wasn’t a real laugh riot, I must admit. But they are not all about that. Did you happen to read the one where they lost my dad’s body?
He: No. I didn’t read any more.
What a charmer.
There were complaints about eating in restaurants. (He didn’t think it was a good form of entertainment. He stays home a lot.) There was some kvetching because his grandchildren were growing up and weren’t that interested in him any more. There were the obligatory references to his late wife and gripes about tattoos. He asked me if I had any. (No.)
The restaurant was too noisy for him. And his incessant coughing, wheezing, throat-clearing and nose-blowing accompanied all of this carping. (The humidity level outside that night was a little too high for his incipient allergy problems.)
I will also tell you that it took him twenty minutes to pay the check.
Twenty minutes. I looked at my watch.
You see, he had this gift card, and since the bill was a whopping $45, he couldn’t quite figure out how to put it on the card, and/or put it on his Amex, or how much was left on the gift card, or how the tip wasn’t included on the gift card and maybe they should just charge that to his Am Ex, or maybe they should just put the whole thing on his Amex, and what was his balance on his gift card, or maybe..
I finally pulled out my wallet to throw down on the bill already.
And he dropped the check on the floor.
Just like your poor, befuddled, great-grandpa would do.
And just when I thought the evening couldn’t get any worse, he had to pull over in the parking lot because he was having chest pains and shortness of breath.
That’s when I stopped being Mr. Nice Guy.
“Look, are you having a heart attack or what? I don’t want to die here if you pass out behind the wheel.”
No, he assured me. It was just hard for him to breathe (as if that was reassuring) and that he would just take a pill and his airways would clear.
Sooner or later.
And then we drove home.
Locally. Down Clark Street. Because he doesn’t like to take the Outer Drive.
WTF?
We are not talking the Brickyard at Indy or Le Mans here. It’s Lake Shore friggin’ Drive.
But no, he took Clark Street through Wrigleyville on a hot summer Saturday night.
At nine miles an hour.
Muttering to himself, “Are my lights on? Are my lights on?” in a little chorus.
The honking, the guys leaning out of the cars screaming at him and giving him the finger the ENTIRE ride home, made for some real fine dating memories.
(Btw, I wanted to be in the cars with the guys who were hanging out of the window screaming at him. It looked like a lot more fun.)
Finally, we made it back to my house in one piece. I showed him how to put the car into the driveway and then he got out, wrestled with that pesky, heavy car door again and held out his hand to me.
I gave him my leftovers.
He staggered a little under the burden of the chicken piccata. But he righted himself gamely, and reached in and helped me out.
He leaned over to peck my cheek. I feinted. He missed.
“Good night,” he said, stifling a yawn. It was, after all, 11:00 pm. Way past lights out for him, I’m sure.
“Good night. Thank you,” I said politely.
And then I darted into the haven of my building.
The whole thing was quite a depressing experience. It wasn’t that he was so dilapidated.
It was that he was such a yutz.
But don’t feel too bad about the guy.
He will never read this.
He said he doesn’t “believe” in the Internet.
That’s ok.
I don’t “believe” in blind dates.
I know just how Bruce feels.
Comedy = tragedy + time. Try that for your captcha, Ellen. But isn’t this post too soon? (on a brighter note, do you know what the middle letter, a T, of “captcha” stands for — hints available after 6 a.m. CDT)
Does the T stand for “terrible?” Like this date? No, I wanted to write this while the details were fresh in my mind. And then I plan on never thinking about it again.
Spoiler alert. Those who want to try to figure out the T in “captcha” on their own, please don’t click on the link or read further. The answer is H.R. Haldeman, kind of. T will be played in an upcoming movie by the hero of this post, which I think we can all agree strikes a different chord than the one about the death of Ellen’s beloved father.
Now yer talking! That suits me to a T.
My take on this is that your ego is hurt, because it is Thursday and he hasn’t called you yet for another date or sent you flowers thanking you for a great evening. Sounds like an exaggeration to me to enlarge the humor in the situation. No one could be that bad especially when he he was properly vetted by two friends (now probably ex-friends).
My ego is ok with him not calling back. He’s forgotten me entirely in the haze of senility. I exaggerated NOTHING. Everything happened as reported. In fact, I left out some really icky details in the interest of his privacy and my readers’ sensibilities. I was not happy with my friends, you’re right. I only hope it was a very good practical joke.
I had heard all these details. And still laughed. Out loud. You have to. And know it can only go uphill from there.
Bless you. From your lips….to Benedict Cumberbatch’s ears.
Sounds beyond awful!! Next time, run, don’t walk, back into your building as if you forgot something – him!! At least you got a blog out of this “blind date”! BTW, a big hint. Next time,(obviously not with this “yutz”) excuse yourself from the table, go to the ladies room, and use your “lifeline call.” Inform your closest friend (who is on standby) to call you in 5-10 minutes with an “emergency” you must tend to immediately. Apologize, and run for a taxi. Next time, tell your “friends” that you only date men decades younger than you! At least you got to “experience” your one and only blind date! Your friends should beware of payback!!!
Good safety tips, Egon. Do you work for OSHA? I will never go on a blind date again. I’m a sadder but wiser girl. And yes, my so-called friends should open any “thank you” gift I send them under water in a bath tub. Love you, E.
Ellen…not sure how to tell you that my great uncle had a wonderful time and still is dreaming about your evening together, which, BTW, is about 18 hours a day. I heard about all of this after the fact and was meaning to email you. Anyway, he felt a real connection which he described as nothing short of electric (static possibly) and once he wakes up today I believe he’s planning to surprise you with dinner. I think he’s bringing soup. He’s also happy that your street provides such convenient free parking!
I’m thrilled, Gary. I’m kvelling, in fact, because you’re going to be my new great nephew. Does this mean the honeymoon night I’ve long dreamt of- and great seats at the Hawks game, too?
http://video.search.yahoo.com/video/play;_ylt=A0LEV1LEQtpTz3oAjXRx.9w4;_ylu=X3oDMTB1YnFoYWdrBHNlYwNzYwRjb2xvA2JmMQR2dGlkA01PVVMxODlfMQ–?p=kate+winslet+worst+blind+date+ever&tnr=21&vid=F44740B914F6BDBE5FE2F44740B914F6BDBE5FE2&l=87&turl=http%3A%2F%2Fts1.mm.bing.net%2Fth%3Fid%3DUN.608047462454133064%26pid%3D15.1&rurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DduPq4YjSzQc&sigr=11ama6l5j&tt=b&tit=KATE+WINSLET+is+on+a+date+with+Huge+Jackman%26%2339%3Bs+Neck+…&sigt=11qsmn81b&back=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.yahoo.com%2Fsearch%3Fei%3DUTF-8%26p%3Dkate%2Bwinslet%2Bworst%2Bblind%2Bdate%2Bever%26fr%3Diphone%26rs%3D1%26_tsrc%3Dapple&sigb=137j8vc0f
And you think you had a bad date
I’d still trade. But thanks for the video clip. It really enlivened up this post, Mitch.
Almost sounds too good/bad to be true but I’m sure it is. I’d reassess those friends of yours. I had a boss who had a great line: “Everybody says they’re a good judge of people; then you see who they hang around with.”
You’re right. Guilt by association. I am never seeing my ex friends again.
OHMYGOD.
Years ago, after two badly failed relationships, I was encouraged to go onto Jdate, sort of match.com for Jewish singles. So date #1 was with a man whose liver entered the room 15 minutes before he did. He told me about his wife who had never been to school but billed herself as a licensed clinical psychologist, and that as part of our “date”, we were picking up his son from basketball and dinner was at Subway. Both smelly son and “date” swore a blue streak (Gimme a f***ing coke with the f***ing sub, bitch). After 20 minutes, I said I was going home.
Date #2 told me he was short, about 5’7″. Okay. But what he didn’t say was that 5″ of that was his pompadour hair. He was really 5’2″, eyes not so blue, with 5″ of hair combed and teased. Plus, he was slight of frame with a horse face. He resembled a Shetland pony. And he only wanted to talk about how his car needed repairs that he could not afford.
I don’t rule out men my age, after all, The Voice, Alan Rickman, is a tad older. But really, blind dates and dating sites? Are you kidding me?
I am so with you re Mr. Rickman. I would make an exception in his case. And I’m sorry that you went through that. But I’m so glad that you used those awful dates for the betterment of this post. And humanity. Thank you for your candor- and your humor, Judith.
We aim to please.
And you SO did. Better than the post. And yes when I hit LA we are going to see the good doctor.
Ei! Hate blind dates. I think I had two. I have a friend who actually set himself up on a blind date. With an Information operator. She had a beautiful voice. They both liked quiche. He was a fit tennis player. She weighed 900 pounds. I hope our Hogly’s dinner turns out a lot better than your date with gramps.
It will rule. As do you, Rajah.
Are you visiting LA? Going to Dr. Hogly’s is epic. JY likes the brisket, but I swear by the beef ribs.
Always remember, E, there are ten million ways a blind date can go wrong. Yours was one of the more benign. Approach such matters the way the English approach friendship – with extreme caution.
Words of wisdom from my BBQ guru.
Truly funny!!
Herbie
Thanks, Herbie. I’m glad you approve.
You just gave me a great idea…a new reality show…Blind Dates Gone Bad!! Sort of a mix between Wives of Beverly Hills and Candid Camera.
I think you should have given him a little more time. I bet he was a good skier.
Great idea. Can I be the emcee? And nope, we covered skiing. He used to like it but can’t do it any more because now his muscles cramp up due to some vitamin deficiency or syndrome or something. A yutz is a yutz in everything.
I think your trusting the wrong people. Your friends don’t have a clue as to who you are. But your date makes for a really funny blog entry.
Have a fab weekend and remember all these life experiences make for great material. Did you ever consider stand-up?
Xo
Sherry
Thanks for the morale-booster, Sherry. And I don’t do stand up. Only sit down.
On a happy note, Ken and I are sitting in the sun on the shores of Catfish Lake……RIGHT NOW!!!!
Later, Ellen……..
I’m jealous. Have a great time. Tell Hef hello.
Ellen, I think that there was about a 5 year difference in your father’s age and myself. I also assume that your date was a lot younger then me. I truly feel sorry for this gent, he can’t be as lucky as some of us are. I think this would be the time to speak to your friends?? and find out what the hell were they thinking about. From the short time I have known you, you most assuredly were matched with the wrong guy. Allan
You know how young at heart and in spirit you are? This guy was 187! And I have NO idea what they were thinking. A valuable lesson however.
I think you were on a date with my father at age 90!
Judy, my dad dead was more fun than this guy! No lie. Thanks. Does Irwin want to meet for coffee?
Well, you’d have to bring your own coffee for a meet-up at Memorial Park Cemetery. If he were still alive, he’d be 104!
And I bet he’d still be more fun. Thanks for the LOL, Judy.
Must have been one amazing night. I’m sure he’s reflecting back on the night thinking how he won your heart over. Also I’m sure he’s sitting by the phone waiting for your call. This could be the making of another Ben Stiller movie! Great stuff!!!
Thanks, my friend. And you’re right. Except Ben Stiller would have to play me. Like it.
Advice on dating…
“Good girls go to Heaven, bad girls go everywhere.” – Mae West
Stick to the young guys.
I used to be Snow White. But I drifted. Thanks, Big K. And come up and see me sometime. You’re just my type.
I know I am a little late to this dance Ellen, but I am a year older than you so I am a little slow getting to my E-mail. I first went on a couple of blind dates in college, but after that decided I would control my own fate in the dating game. It’s really too bad you two just didn’t go to a good movie. He probably would have just fallen asleep…but then the snoring would have been awful….you know…sleep apnea. Anyway E have a great weekend, but you have to watch out for those young bucks too!
Thanks for the laugh- and the good advice, Steve. What a great way to start my day!
Being single and finding ways to meet people can be a difficult place to be…trust me. I laughed my way thru the blog and when I stopped smiling I realized something very simple that no one here has stated. Scenario- you are single and many of your friends have not even mentioned they would like to fix you up ……do they not know anyone else that is available? I hardly think that is reality…I know for a fact they won’t fix people up because whenever they have, the match has failed and they feel terrible for the failure!!! So drop the “how could you fix me up with the putz” and put on the Grace Kelly charm…thank the fixer uppers and realize your date was not for you but probably will be for someone else. Dating is an experience…look at it as only that!!!
Thanks, Jackie. I have never asked anyone to fix me up. This offer came out of the blue and I thought why not? Now I know why not. I’ll find him myself. PS This guy is for NOONE else. Trust me. I left out the details as to why. It’s called “overkill.”
I think it was sweet that friends tried to set you up. Too bad, no chemistry, but it is good to get your toes back into the water. Sorry this one didn’t work out. Ugh!
My husband says you should go out with younger guys for sex and older for conversation. It does not seem either of these worked for you.
Hope to hear from you via Ojibwa.
H
ps- what is the title of the blog about your father’s funeral?
Thanks, Holly. Your husband is right. But in my case, all my younger husbands have been good at both. See you soon. Here’s the one (not that funny, sorry) about my dad. https://www.letterfromelba.com/with-a-song-in-his-heart/
OK , Ellen. No stand-in until late August? Everyone gets stand-ins. Sometimes the stand- ins end up with their own gig. (Letterman, Leno )
I shall miss you for the next two weekends.
As for blind dates, never do it unless you would absolutely trust the friend that was doing it for you with your life. All the other-wise advice you needed was already posted by my sister Adele. (aka Himmel Freeman).
I hope we talk so you learn all the touchstones of my life with your comment. I know Adele may have filled you in.
Thank you for all my Sunday morning small gifts.
I look forward to your return, although I know I will forget and still wake up to spend a little quality time with you.
Enjoy your vacation.
Your devoted fan and Adele’s brother!
Scott
Thanks, Fred. I have pondered the idea of “guest hosts” but I don’t want any of them getting their own show. (Besides,no one wants to do this twice a week.) Thanks for the kind words. Hope to see IRL soon.
Those 2 friends you trusted, you might want to rethink that. I had a similar blind date from trusted friends that wasn’t quite as bad as yours, but at least it was 47 years ago.
Who was she?
SHORT, FAT, AND NO PERSONALITY. OTHER THAN THAT – PERFECT. IT WAS A SHORT DATE. IT WAS MY FIRST WEEK AT MADISON AND MY LAST BLIND DATE – OTHER THAN WENDY.
Jeez, I’m just turning 57, do I ever feel old now 🙁
However, I know lots of one-liners, unfortunately they’re all 15-letters long.
-MAS
OMG! I’m not worthy. O Canada! Our home and native land! I am willing to make you the exception to my rule. Thanks, MAS
I’m flattered Ellen, but I’ve been in a committed relationship for almost 10 years … so I’m out of the dating (especially the blind dating) scene for now, thankfully!
Trust me, crossword constructors such as myself are very good at making ourselves seem much more intelligent than we really are. We’re all bounders at heart! (yes, that’s right: “bounders” 😉 )
BTW, I’ve been enjoying your (back) blogs immensely.
Cheers,
-Martin
Hard on luck on me. But you’ve classed up my comments section immeasurably. And I’m right chuffed to know you are enjoying the blog.
I was wondering why you didn’t let me come up.
Very cute. But you were too dilapidated to make it into the lobby. (And it was way past your bedtime.)