An Aha! Moment in Dating

I’ve had a wicked craving for salt and booze so Sunday evening the 21 year old Starbucks boy from South Africa and I dined al fresco across the street at some substandard Mexican chain where the meal was just as uninspired as the crappy watered down margaritas. Conversely, the salsa had more personality than my date. It was the first time that I’d ever almost fallen asleep at dinner.

Here are a few things I learned about the young lad and his country -

• Vicious outbreaks of teen-age acne don’t cease when you’re 21.
• His birthday is in December. Another fucking Sagittarius for me. Yippee.
• He doesn’t “hate” black people but he wouldn’t look our black server in the eye.
• His friends from home are Nazis.
• He’s a substandard tipper.
• He was captain of his…badminton team.
• Apartheid was good for their country.
• His deodorant is cheap because it wasn’t working.
• He’s been stabbed.
• The South African military is considered the best in the world.
• Most South African women look like…sigh…Charlize Theron.

Here are a few things I learned about myself and from this experience -

• Accents that sound cool can turn grating.
• Look the other way when one is talking with melted cheese stuck between their lips.
• Offer to pay for half your meal so you’re never obligated. Unless he’s mad rich.
• Never eat Mexican on a first date.
• If he’s already burping loudly in front of you he won’t hesitate to let it slip out his rear.
• Stabbing someone’s tongue with a fork is a crime. Don’t let it go beyond quiet contemplation.
• Feigning food poisoning is not cruel.
• Dating someone 14 years your junior does not make you feel young. It makes you feel stupid.
• If his father gives him a ride there, he’ll expect a ride back.

Which is exactly what I did. Well, not quite - I did allow him to come up to my apartment where we drank wine and vodka and watched Requiem For A Dream. It was an uneventful evening until, in the middle of one of my favorite scenes, he jumped up.

“Do you have water?” he asked, looking flustered.

Annoyed, I pointed towards the fridge. “Cold and bottled.”

He objected. “Oh, no, no, I’m fine with tap water. Does the faucet in your bathroom work?”

I looked at him funny. “Um, yeah,” I laughed. “It -”

He ran into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. The water was running for a curious amount of time when he finally decided to emerge from his extended leave of absence and with him came the unsavory mixture of vanilla toilet spray and a putrid odor that, unfortunately, shot right up my nose. It smelled exactly like a bad version of the Mexican food we had just eaten. Repositioning himself on the floor in front of the couch, I recognized the familiar scent of the Old Man’s cologne, sun baked armpits, and the malodorous remnants of the mysterious activity that took place in the loo and that clung to his clothes like an albatross.

Finally, sick of being an unwitting witness to such loutish behavior, I blurted out that I had a boyfriend in the hopes that he would take great offense and storm out of my apartment.

“I must be honest,” I said nobly. “It’s only fair.”

He looked at me earnestly, his brain working in overtime. “It’s ok,” he finally offered. “But can I tell you something?”

Sure, I said.

“Oh, no, never mind. You’ll hate me for it.”

Please, go ahead, I insisted. I promise I won’t.

“Well, after we met, I slept with two women. At once. You know. A threesome.”

“Yes! I’m certainly aware of the definition!” I snapped. “Are you serious?”

Yes, he said giddily as he recounted how he succumbed to the advances of an older woman. And her roommate.

It wasn’t too long after that I dropped him off.