Context: I had matched with ‘Mouth’ about 10 days prior to meeting him. The day after we matched, I tried really hard to get him to come meet Lo and I out on H Street… solely because we wanted a group of guys to buy us drinks (#MenAreWallets2016). He didn’t show, and then I completely lost interest because I met My Soulmate that night and have since been spending insane amounts of time with him. Thus, my date with Mouth was solely for the purpose of 1) free drinks and 2) a distraction from Soulmate.
Hey TD readers! I’m back with another story for ya, and I hope I can adequately capture what happened to me last night in this post, because it was genuinely THE WORST date of my life. Here goes nothing…
Allow me to set the scene: It’s a Tuesday, at 2 PM, and I’m daydreaming about My Soulmate, when my inner voice of reason comes out:
*Snap out of it, MC. Don’t let yourself care more than he does. It’s a competition of chillness, and you can win this.*
I figure, what better distraction is there than a date with another dude? So, I text Mouth.
MC: Hey, night opened up, you free?
M: YES BABE YES I AM
Mouth suggests a place that is very close to my office. Too close. I cannot possibly risk any coworkers seeing me, so I whip out all my diva moves until he finally agrees to a different location, at a time more convenient for me. Gosh, it is so great being a girl 😉
I arrive at our date spot, and immediately notice that he looks NOTHING like his pictures. DUDE. NOT COOL. DON’T CATFISH ME, BROTHA. Ugh, well I’m here, might as well go through with it.
We walk into the bar, and I whip out my standard opening line:
MC: Thanks for meeting me, even though you don’t know me and I might be a creepy stalker haha!!
Instead of just laughing it off, he responds with another sarcastic comment. I was not prepared for this. Before I know it, we’re locked in a charade of sarcasm that is going waaaay too far. But, fuck it, I’ll be as creepy as possible because a) I’m bored and b) I want to see how weird I can be and still get free drinks.*
MC: It’s a shame you’re going to go missing. I wonder when people will notice.
M: Haha, you’re funny!
MC: I’ll murder you and then hide your body.
M: Sure ya will, babe *wink*
*Didn’t pay for either of mine – WIN.
On top of this, every five minutes he manages to sneak in a reference to the fact that he 100% walked into this date expecting to get laid. AND IT GETS WORSE.
After two hours (that really felt like two days), we finally leave, and he asks me where “we” are headed to. I inform him that I am going home, and that he is not invited. Sorry, I ain’t sorry.
He took this… poorly. As in, his response was to grab me, physically shove me up against one of those comically large decorative concrete flower pots, and ATTACK MY FACE. He was not just a bad kisser – he was the worst kisser. I have made out with 18-year-old college freshmen* who knew what they were doing better than this dude!! He LICKED my NOSE and CHEEK, and I swear his tongue touched that little thingy that hangs from the back of your mouth, and guysssss I can’t even describe this experience without throwing up in my mouth a little.
*I was 18 at the time too. Calm down, sicko.
OH. And did I mention that this was all happening IN PUBLIC? At 8 PM? In the daylight at the corner of 12TH AND PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE. THERE WERE PEOPLE AROUND. THE PEOPLE WERE STARING.
I somehow managed to wriggle my way out of his grasp, and immediately continued my walk to the Metro. He scurried along until he caught up to me and tried to slip my hand into his, which I countered by holding my gym bag on one arm and my purse on the other. Yes, this was an outrageously awkward and unbalanced way to hold my belongings, but something had to be done to stop this guy!
We FINALLY arrive at the Metro, and I assure him that yes, he IS still going in the opposite direction. He responds by ATTACKING MY FACE. AGAIN. AGAIN! ON THE ESCALATOR! NO!!!!
First of all, sir, people get sucked into escalators all the time.* They’re dangerous machines. Second of all, STOP attacking my face, JUST STOP.
*Or so my older brother told me once when I was 5. I’m not taking any chances.
Luckily my train was only one minute away, so I crouch and prepare to leap on. He uses the final seconds before my escape to let me know that he’s gonna write me down “in ink” on his calendar for Friday. He then shoves me up against a Metro pylon to get one last attack in. WE ARE STILL IN PUBLIC. Finally, my train pulls up and I break free, legitimately sprinting onto this Orange line train that can only be described as a gift sent from heaven.
He texted me an hour later. I sent a curt response and immediately began the fast fade. I hope you have whiteout, hun, because “Friday” is not happening.
And that, my friends, was the worst date of my life. Tbh, I’m still a little scarred by the entire experience. But hey, stand back up, dust yourself off, and get back on the proverbial Tinder horse, am I right? So, fret not – I’ll be back.
X’s and O’s,