Excerpt from Chapter 3:
“The Romper”
I liked his tattoos. He wore glasses, heavy black safety shoes, and an all occasion baseball cap. He always smelled nice. He was at work. The office was desolate one Friday afternoon, I was there by myself playing catch up on a project that left more to be completed. He rushed in with a last minute request, and by chance, I was the only fool that could help him. I obliged. He came to thank me on three separate occasions the following week. “Again, thank you so much Nina, you really saved my ass,” he said. As he turned to walk out, he faced me again and said, “I should probably take you to lunch at our five star cafeteria or something.” I smiled and replied, “I’ll take my chances and wait for a formal invitation somewhere outside of this dump.” He called my desk phone when he returned to his office and asked me if I wanted to go out. Of course, I said, “Sure.”
Later that week, we met up at Fishbones. Fishbones was a classy watering hole right near the water. We sat in our nervousness and talked for nearly three hours. He occasionally glanced up at the Redwings game playing on the raised monitor. He even admitted he had tickets for the game that night, but said that he planned to meet up with his friends later in the evening. We talked about our backgrounds, childhoods, interests, work, and lightly touched on our traumatic past relationships. I am a slow drinker, so I finished the night off with two beers, he had four. We walked out together and he kissed me. It wasn’t a bad kiss; though I didn’t feel many sparks as I had anticipated. He called the next day and asked me out to dinner for the following week.
It was a nice evening for dinner outside. He took me to this place right off Jefferson. The boats were lingering around the patio, and the sun was just beginning to set. The dinner was great, and the conversation was lasting. Afterwards, he asked me if I’d like to take a walk down by the beach. Sounded great to me, but I glanced down to my four inch wedge platform sandals and wished I had been just a little more conservative when it came to selecting my shoes for the evening. I asked him if we could swing back to my place so that I could change into a more reasonable pair. Later that week he asked me if I would be interested in visiting his place for dinner. I accepted.
That day, I had a pretty busy day at work. I came home and changed into something a little more comfortable and head out to his place. He had already started drinking, and I could smell a hint of barbeque as he closed the patio door behind him. He said, “I just started the grill, so dinner should be ready in about an hour, can I grab you something to drink?” I said, “sure, I’ll take what you’re drinking.” We sat around and talked while he was preparing to put the food on the grill. We were going to feast on steak, scallops, and shrimp. Who needs veggies and carbs anyways, right?
My stomach began to grumble and I had realized that two hours had passed and we still hadn’t eaten. No big deal. It was 9:30pm, and I realized this guy must have polished off at least ten beers. As he closed the patio door behind him, with the full tray of cooked food in hand, he said, “I’m not really hungry right now.” Oh great. I’m starving, this guy is near drunk. I can’t just go ahead and help myself. Who wants to eat alone on a date? I politely said, “nah, I’m alright.” I nervously plopped myself on the couch and began to watch the Red Wings game. He sat down next to me, turned his head, and said, (brace yourself for this), “you wanna make out?” On the inside, I started laughing hysterically. On the outside, I said, “sure, why not?” Maybe if I could occupy my mind with something other than the smell of the steamy hot goodness that sat on the dining room table, my hunger could pass.
So, there we were…fifteen minutes and taking a breather. I exclaimed, “hey, I’m not really into going that far with you, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea…maybe I should leave.” He expressed that he wanted to stay, that we should just lay there and talk. Fifteen minutes later, there we were, taking a breather. I exclaimed, “hey, maybe I should leave.” He expressed that he wanted me to stay, that we should just lay there and talk. Fifteen minutes later, I am the catalyst of every poor man’s excuse for not getting to the next level. You guessed it. Rhymes with ‘Lou Rawls’. Need I say more?
I’m lying there on my stomach, contemplating how much longer I am going to subject myself to his whining. I find myself fantasizing about the grilled goodness sitting out on the table. He leans in close and whispers in my ear, “Can I use your ass?” Before I can say “For What?!” Two hundred and sixty pounds of sheer horn-ness is climbing up on my fully clothed butt; straddling it as if I am a prized 4-H. At this exact moment, I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. I was laughing for sure. How could that even feel good?? Jeans on jeans?? Waiter! Side order of chaif cream please! The side of my face was smooshed into the pillow and one lowly tear streaked my face and rolled under the side of my nose. If only he could just hand me a shrimp? A scallop? Anything?! This moment, in hindsight, brought total new meaning to the phrase Eat. Pray. Love; as I was only satisfying one of these three desires.
“Please get off me (minus a few inappropriate f-bombs).” A deep sigh of frustration and he was off. Thank god. He went to use the bathroom. And that was a wrap! As soon as the bathroom door shut I shot up, grabbed my things, and fled for freedom. I rocked back from grabbing the knob, grabbed one shrimp off the tray and sped to my car. This was by far, one of the worst dates I have ever been on; however, I’m still laughing...and to me...that is worth far more than a bad ass-romping.
Two valuable lessons learned from this one:
1) Don't date anyone from work. Period.
2) Don't come hungry.
