I couldn’t make this sh*t up

So there I am on date #4,832.

And it’s going O-K.

My date, a longtime employee of an online bidding site that rhymes with C-Bay, is engaging enough – although he’s not good at making eye contact.

He’s already told me that I blink too much.

And he’s admitted he has no filter.

Hmmm. . . sounds like an excuse to say what you want and damn the consequences, but O-K.

He moves a glass on the table and says, “I did that so that I can see your tits better.”


I instinctively cover them up with my hands.

Jesus! Did he really just say that!?

EXCUSE ME? I say loudly.

“Oh sorry. I was joking,” he replied.

And then 5 minutes later… “I really am sorry.”

And again, 5 minutes later… “Sorry.”


I should’ve walked out.

I thought about it.

But by the time it occurred to me, it was too late. The conversation had moved on and we were behaving amiably again.

And a part of me realized with dismay that I’m kinda used to men behaving badly around me, or else I would have left.


I couldn’t make this shit up.