My Bad Part One

First a hearty congratulations to our Cubs!  They now head to the National League Championship series starting this Saturday.

It was very exciting around here two nights ago.

And now back to the blog…

Yes, Dear Readers, this is a two-parter.  You’re going to have tune back in on Sunday for the thrilling conclusion.

It’s hard to believe but that adorable baby pictured above has turned into a ruthless abuser of men.

Sad but true.

Yep, that’s me.  Ellen Roffe Ross. And this is my story.

Okay, by now, you probably know that I have been on some really bad dates.  (If you’re not up to speed, please catch up by reading Date Night and Really!?!)

On both occasions, the gentlemen (?) in question have acted questionably. But in the fullness of time, I have to admit, that I, too, was guilty of a bêtise or two on a date myself recently.

In other words, I acted like such a be-yaatch that my conscience is killing me.

True, he sort of asked for it.  But he was a nice, harmless kind of schnook and I was plain awful to him.

I’ll lay out the facts.

You be the judge.

It all started with a friend of a friend.  This guy he knew- let’s call him Mark- had just moved back to the North Shore after forty years. Mark was a lawyer. (NOT a divorce lawyer.  I checked.)

My friend went on to tell me that, although he hadn’t seen Mark since high school, he was okay-looking.  And smart.  And he that he liked to play golf and he skied.

Would I just talk with his old friend?  Object: A date.

Ok.

Mark and I chatted.  He was pleasant and quick-witted.  Had gone to good schools, said he had heard great things about me, had two nice kids, laughed in all the right places, and would I please have dinner with him?  Anywhere I wanted to go.

Here was a problem.  I have sworn off blind dates for dinner.  Too fraught with pitfalls of every kind.

So I countered with lunch.  Easy and not loaded with subtext.  And I named a cute place within walking distance of my house- as extra insurance if I wanted to skedaddle out of there in a hurry.

He countered my counter-offer.  He is a lawyer, after all.

Since he would be driving in and traffic would be so heavy, couldn’t I please make it for dinner?

Please?

Ok.

So I named a good, not-too-high end French bistro in my neighborhood.

He’d said he’d call and make reservations.

He called back right away.

“I tried calling them but no one answered. I left a message.”

“I don’t know what number you called but I know they’re open. Oh well, how about Bella Notte on Grand?”

He called and called me back.

“We’re on for seven-thirty.  Are you comfortable with me picking you up or do you want to meet me there?”

I was ok with the pick up.  He seemed pretty harmless.

“I’ll be downstairs at ten after seven.  That should give us enough time to get there.  What kind of car do you drive?”

“A Lexus.  See you then.”

Ok.

Came the night, it was 6:40, I was almost ready when my phone rang.

“Hi, Ellen.  It’s Mark.  I’m downstairs.”

Huh?  I like to be early but this guy was a half hour early.

Emily Post Etiquette Sidebar:  I’ve checked with two different guys. My friend, Norman and my building engineer, Eric.  They’re real different. Norman is strictly Bergdorf Goodman and Eric is 100% Home Depot. And they both concurred.  If the guy is way early, that’s strictly his problem. He should politely cool his heels.  I shouldn’t have been contacted with a STAT alert.

I rushed down.

There was the Lexus.  It was gold.

But I got in smiling and then…

He was completely bald.

And I don’t mean Yul Brynner/Bruce Willis bullet head, sexy bald.  I mean alopecia Mexican Hairless bald.  Right down to his (non-existent) eye lashes.

I don’t mean to be unkind but he was kind of paunchy and pasty and he held his neck in kind of a weird stiff way.  My instant visceral response was one big skin-crawl.

I couldn’t help it.

But I was in the car and there was no polite way out.

He asked me for the restaurant address.

Come on.  He’s a big boy.  Shouldn’t he have known where he was going?

I looked it up on Yelp and I swear to God, he then put it into a Garmin GPS box on top of the dash.

How old was this car anyway?

But I didn’t have time to wonder because soon we were off and headed to Bella Notte.

He was the worst driver.

Couldn’t figure out how to get on Lake Shore Drive heading south at Belmont.  Weaved from lane to lane and slammed on the brakes and almost mowed down one poor hapless pedestrian crossing the street. Was I relieved when we got there in one piece.

But as disturbing as his driving was, his dinner table conversation was worse.

“What made you move back here after being gone for forty years?” I asked, desperate to make small talk. “Your family?”

“Maybe it was to meet you,” he replied.

Uh oh.

I had to change his thinking on this score ASAP.

“It was nice of you to come all the way downtown to take me to dinner. But I’m pretty geographically undesirable.  Aren’t there any nice women in your neck of the woods?”

“As a matter of fact, I have a date with someone tomorrow night.  But she’s not as smart as you are.”

“Oh, smart isn’t everything.  She’s probably very nice.  Which I’m not.”

(I thought it politic to talk up the competition and gently let him know that I was not the girl of his dreams.)

Dinner was odd. I don’t drink but I’m used to guys that order at least one glass of wine.

Mark was good with water.  And he rushed me.

The first time the waiter came by the table he grabbed him and said,”We’re ready to order.”

I wasn’t, but what the hell.

It was as if he had to get back to something or someone right away.

(Later I found out why.)

And when I didn’t get a chance to finish my salad before the entrees arrived, before the waiter could take away my half-eaten dish, Mark asked,”Can I have that?”

OMG!  He wanted to eat my salad leftovers?

“Yeah, that salad looks good.  My soup was too salty.”

I slid the plate over.

I won’t go into the conversation.  Dreary, whiny and really mad at his remarried ex.  (Him.)  Bored and trying to make the best of it. (Me.)

But then it happened.

Mark said, “I really love your nail polish.  That dark red is so provocative.”

Cue the gooseflesh.

“Do you have matching lipstick?  Are you wearing any?” he continued.

“Sure, it’s in my bag.  I must have eaten it off.”

“Don’t bother putting any more on.  It will be less for me to kiss off.”

OMG!

Did you ever?

To be continued on Sunday, guys.

In the meantime, watch this.

And Go Cubs!