The story is set in hippy town about 45 minutes from where I live... which is usually a deal breaker for me. (See also "why I won't date you"...although location didn't make the list, I'd make it #11... it's probably more like #4... I'll have to rethink that post). Occasionally, however, I try to prove to my friends that I'm not, in fact, Seinfeld, but a unique butterfly willing to give any good-hearted soul a chance.
Enter the yoga instructor. We met online. I had low expectations because, yeah, I had to drive 45 minutes because he didn't own a car (strike 2... him living 45 minutes away being strike 1 if you're not keeping up), but he was nice and I like yoga.
We met at a cute little vegan/vegetarian joint which I was super excited about and was a big reason I was willing to forgive strikes 1 and 2. It was probably late September, early October and it was the first real cold day of the fall... but by cold I mean that I wore knee socks with my skirt and a sweater... not a winter coat (this is important for you to remember as I proceed).
Since I was a little early, I grabbed a glass of wine and waited for him at the bar. And then I saw him. Wearing his Jayne Cobb hat (except multi-colored) and ski jacket I had to remind myself that I was not in Kansas anymore (I never was anyway, but stick with me) and I shouldn't have expected him to dress up (strike 3... please note that I don't know how this strike system works).
I greeted him and we grabbed a table.He put his coat on his chair. This is when I noticed his pants. He left to use the restroom and I frantically texted my friend Kelly who was in town and hanging out with her parents.
Me: Oh my god. He's wearing ski pants. (Strike 118).
Kelly: Wait. What?
He returned to the table where he removed a long sleeved t-shirt (118.5?). We ordered. We chatted. It was interesting. He instructs yoga. I instruct my coworkers where they can shove their corporate shit.
He went to the restroom again (119... but I do feel guilty for the 1/2 point deduction because maybe he had a UTI or something?).
Me: SKI PANTS!!! He's wearing fucking ski pants!
Kelly: Did he go skiing today?
Me: Does it matter? WE didn't go skiing today.
He returned and took off another long sleeved shirt (145). Food arrived. It was amazing (99). We discussed that he did not in fact live 15 miles from here (my possible reason for his over-t-shirting, under-pants wearing ensemble [not to be confused with wearing underpants... that's different]), but just around the corner (291). We discussed that all he really did that day was teach a yoga class about 6 hours earlier and then lay about the house (384).
He went to the restroom again. (Seriously? Is this normal?)
Kelly (she'd sent this message 20-30 minutes earlier, but I was too polite to check while he was actually at the table): My mother and I are dying here.
Me: I'll call you later.
He returned, removed another long sleeved t-shirt (leaving at least one more that I could see, but who knows what was under that thing). We settled the check, and while he invited me to come over I declined to subject myself to his prostate disorder or the embarrassment of hooking up with someone who wears 14 shirts when it's 40 degrees outside... no matter how flexible they may be.
Date Score?
Him: at least 435
Me: 0... well, dinner was good, so I'll give myself a 10 for good food.
And this, my 7 readers who all know me and have already heard this story, is why dating sucks... because dudes can't always be bothered to put on pants without an elastic waistband.
You're killing me. I love this blog. Thanks for inviting me.
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DeleteI submit my torture for your pleasure, Babs. Ha.
DeleteI loved this so, so much. A girl has to have standards, after all.
ReplyDeleteA standard waistband isn't too much to ask for a first date. it really isn't.
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