My last post was Part 1 of the of the torturous tale that was my South African date. This, my dear friends, is Part 2. It pays homage to the phrase, “Never say ‘It can’t get any worse'”.
After having Mark, the South African, call me up and tell me to walk 15 minutes to where he was, I completely lost any liking I had of the guy. He had already made me meet him at the most disgusting restaurant ever built, and was now not even willing to rescue me from it.
“Just walk East,” he told me.
“If I knew which way East was I still wouldn’t walk that way, because I’m a girl and I’m alone and I don’t like this sketchy neighborhood,” I replied. “Just come here. I’ll wait for you.”
He begrudgingly met up with me fifteen minutes later, and we began walking to the correct restaurant.
“You’re late,” I said, looking at my invisible watch.
“I am,” he said, no apology, no hint of a care. “If you had walked to me, I wouldn’t have had to spend 15 minutes walking.”
I ignored his comment, but I couldn’t ignore the next one.
“Are you sure you’re the same girl I met the other night?” he asked, with a bit of disgust shining through.
I immediately lost all self-confidence. I looked up at him in horror, then down at my beautiful maxi dress and flip flops. My hair was blown out with curls when I met him, now it was pulled to the side in a braid. One hundred questions raced through my mind at once.
Did I look ugly? Did he remember me being prettier? Was he drunk when we met? Did he think I was a different girl he had met that night?
“What?” was all I could get out.
“You must have been wearing heels the other night,” he replied.
“Ohhhh,” I said, breathless with relief. “Yes, I was.”
“You’re just so…tiny,” he said, his words once again dripping with disgust.
“My heels weren’t that big,” I said, defending myself.
He looked at me one more time, made a face, and kept walking.
“I used to be an inch taller,” he said, after an awkward minute.
“Did you shrink?” I asked, laughing, assuming he was joking.
“No, I jumped out of a plane and my parachute didn’t open. I broke my back.”
“Oh my God! How can you say that so calmly?! Tell me the story!” I said, eyes wide.
“I jumped out of a plane. My chute didn’t open. I hit the ground harder than I would have hoped. What did you not get?”
Even this asshole’s beautiful accent wasn’t saving his rudeness. The more time I spent with him, the more I started to suspect that his ex-girlfriend had toyed with his parachute.
“This restaurant is too far. I didn’t anticipate doing all this walking [evil glance in my direction] I don’t want to go any further. Let’s just eat here,” he said after a few minutes.
I looked up to see a bar, but was so relieved I didn’t have to eat Indian food, or walk with this idiot anymore, that I couldn’t even bring myself to care.
I’ll save the dinner part of the tale for tomorrow…
Have you ever had a date made you feel ugly and/or stupid?