I decided to try out this new app. You might have heard of it…. Tinder.
I met a man, we had many liked interests, so we added each other to Facebook. Because in this day and age what’s a little Facebook stalking. Got to weed out the crazy! At least so I thought…
So, I might have broken the number one rule for dating. I went to his home for the first date. Yes, I know it was a no-no!
But anyway on with the story.
I googled his address and drove to his place. Now, his home is in a sketchy area of town. Lets just say I was concerned for my safety and wondering if leaving my vehicle on the street was a bright idea. But fortunately he had parking behind his house. His home resembled that house in a movie, the one that looks like a crack den, with hookers on the corner. At this point, I’m thinking I should cancel. But I decide to cowgirl up and go.
I greet him like any woman going to a man’s house would…. with three bottles of wine. Liquid encouragement anyone? His ensemble is a unevenly buttoned linen shirt, wrinkled unzipped khaki shorts (I don’t think he owns an iron), no shoes and just woke up hair.
He also has the tendency when speaking to look over you instead of directly at you. I’m thinking at this point he missing a few marbles. But I think I can do this, so I stay. As a precaution, I share my location with two of my close friends (thank you Siri). A girl can never be too careful.
Okay, so prepare yourself. I found a man who actually cooks! On the stove, with utensils, and a pan. Not in a microwave! Yes, its rare. Dinner consists of a middle eastern chicken dish with rice. It was tasty and I’m one bottle of wine down by this point.
This is a bachelor pad, so no table. We sat on the sofa to eat dinner. The sofa has a random flag thrown over it. I guess that’s his idea of décor. Second bottle of wine down…
At this point, he decides to share some personal information about himself. He thinks this will make me feel more comfortable on the flag sofa. He tells me about his frat experience, that involves branding his ass. Yes, you read correctly. He had his ass branded. I guess that’s brotherly love, right? Needless to say, that can’t be lasered off. He’ll need to find a plastic surgeon to correct that mistake.
He continues on to tell me that he explores different lifestyles. This is when pictures come out, and show & tell begins. Let me begin by saying, he looks better as a woman. Apparently he’s a closet cross-dresser.
He also like to vacation. But don’t we all. His vacation is a little different than the typical one. After stalking my Facebook page he’s decided that I’d make an excellent Mistress. He would naturally pay for all of my expenses and that there is a club that he thinks we would have a great time at.
After hearing this information, I change the subject. There’s something to be said about too much honestly. I realize that I need to sober up and drive home. Because this does not qualify as an environment I want to stay in.
He puts in a movie. So, I can sober up comfortably.
Next thing I know, its morning…
I take stock of myself. I’m in a strange bed, I’m completely clothing deprived. But there’s an arm around me. My first thought, “oh shit what did I do?” I take inventory of myself. Does anything hurt? Do I still have my wits about me? I ease out of bed to find my clothes.
He then wakes up. He wants me to stay, he wants to cuddle… Ugh. His bathroom is disgusting. There’s hair everywhere, no toilet paper, I guess I’ll just have to shake it off (Taylor would be proud).
I emerge from the bathroom, hoping to make a swift exit. But no, he’s there. He’s hurt, he wants to make vacation plans. First thought that pops into my mind, lie. I say, I need to let my dog out. I hug him, only because he looks like I just crushed his soul and then I do what any rational woman does at this point… I call a friend (just like the option on how to be a millionaire).
It’s 7am, on Sunday morning. It’s too early for brunch, mimosas would have been nice. But, I’ll have to settle for coffee at my girlfriends house. At least its safe there. Now that its daylight, we see the damage…
From what I was told, it wasn’t just a love bite. It was an aggressive assault of my neck line. The bruises had already started to form. It looked like he had attempted to suck the worm out of the tequila bottle while drinking. My neck was black & blue. It wasn’t pretty. This was a major use of concealer moment.
So, the morals of the story is… Tinder isn’t as tender as it claims to be.
Beware of the flag draped sofas ladies.