Dream Date?

My mother reminds me regularly that I’m getting older and can’t afford to be so picky when it comes to a life partner. “You’ll end up on the shelf”. Of course I know what she means but I’m always tempted to remark, “Shelf, what shelf? Is it solid wood, veneer or plastic?”

I’m thirty-nine, successful, good looking, lots of friends and I own my own home. These facts have no impact on my mother. As far as she’s concerned I could be an Academy Award winner and still be a ensconced on a shelf somewhere. Rather than argue or debate the merits of the single life. I just tell her I haven’t found Mr. Right yet. Not something she is interested in hearing but it does the trick. The alternative is telling her to put a sock in it and although tempted, I harken back to all the times I was reminded of the 20 hours of labor mom endured to bring me into the world.

I’m not a blind date kind of girl. I prefer to call my own shots, make my own decisions, do my own shopping, pick my partner. Okay I’ll stop. Anyway for some inexplicable reason I agreed to a blind date set up. I trusted my friend, the blind date arranger, and figured she wouldn’t set me up with a loser. As she put it “It’s a dream date not a blind date”. I tend to be a bit negative about things, I’m not a smiley faced Pollyanna. Not that I am miserable or unhappy but I am cautious about how I conduct my life. Risking failure was never an option. I always enter into things expecting them to be less than perfect and when they turned out well I was as happy as a pig in it!

This blind date, oops dream date, was no exception, expect the worse. Regardless of my attitude I made an effort to look good, worked on my small talk technique and practiced wearing a smile on my face for extended periods of time. My date, I’ll call him George, contacted me and we arranged to meet Friday night at a bar that I knew. We would meet, get to know one another over drinks and then grab a bite to eat. Unsaid is that if after a couple of drinks, we hated each other we would just leave. Fine by me.

Friday night rolled around and after doing my hair and make-up I headed out to meet my date. I drove to the bar rather than calling a cab for a couple of reasons, first of all it is convenient and second, a quick get-away. I parked my car and walked to the bar. George had told me he would be standing at the bar waiting for me and just in case there was more than one George at the bar he would be wearing a white scarf. I spotted him right away and I walked up and introduced myself. “Hi, are you George?” I asked. He looked at me kind of sizing me up. “You bet I am. And you are?” he asked. I stood kind of thinking either this guy is a real joker or he’s a real jerk. “I’m your blind date Anne. We talked on the phone and arranged to meet here at this time and date,” I said. I suddenly realized he had been at the bar for a while and was drunk. My first instinct was to turn around and leave but I figured I had got all dressed up expecting some sort of date the least I could do was have a glass of Merlot with George before I left. “Blind date? Oh that’s right. I’m meeting some babe here in a few minutes so I can’t talk,” George said. I thought, hmm this was going to be an interesting evening. “I’m your blind date, the babe you’re supposed to meet,” I said. I was thinking ‘how wasted is this guy? Or is he just a major jerk?’ “No way Jose! Okay, okay, if you are my date, answer me this, what’s my mother’s maiden name?” he asked. He was completely wasted. He was drinking his wine like it was water. I should have just left but for some reason I couldn’t resist sparring with a drunk. “I’ve never met you before and I haven’t a clue what your mom’s maiden name is. We were set up on this date remember. I don’t know you from Adam,” I said. “Adam, see you don’t even know my name. For your information the name is George okay George. G-E-O-R-G-E, George not Adam,” he said. By this time George has tossed back another glass of wine and is barely hanging onto his seat. “I know your name is George. My name is Anne. We are supposed to be on a date,” I said. “Anne, that’s the same name as girl I’m waiting to meet. What a coincidence. Is your name spelled with an ‘E’?” he asked.

At this point I could have said anything. George was on a different planet than me. “I spell my name with an ‘X’ as in ‘X marks the spot’,” I said. Not sure why I said that but I did. “What spot? So your name isn’t really Anne it’s Annex,” he asked. I feel like I’m talking to a cauliflower. I’m actually enjoying myself in a weird sort of way. “So George, when is your date supposed to get here?” I asked “She’s a bit late, but that’s okay. I like late people. Late is great. Early is swirly,” he said. I was about to say something when he began to sing. “Early is swirly, late is great, I’m a big cheese ball but I can sing. Late is great because I ate at eight …” he sang. His singing became quite loud and everyone in the bar stopped to look at him. Of course by this time I am laughing and about to join in the singing. Notice I said ‘about to’.

My good sense and sobriety stopped me. Good old George was singing his heart out and so I decided that it was time to take my leave. I touched his arm and he turned to look at me. “It’s been nice chatting. I hope you enjoy your date with Anne,” I said. “What date? Who are you and where did you come from?” he said. He then stood up and waved goodbye to some imaginary friend and staggered out of the bar singing his heart out.

I then left the bar and drove home. I laughed most of the way home. I’m normally fairly reserved, the laughing was a bit of a shock to me. The next morning, I made my coffee, gathered my newspaper, switched on the TV, relaxed and ready to indulge in my Saturday morning ritual. Just as I was nicely chill the phone rang.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi, this is George, your drunk dream date,” he said.