Date in Little Italy

This guy wanted to fuck.

I met him in Little Italy. Parking was a son of a bitch, so I had to park my big ass van a few blocks away from the restaurant we had decided to meet at. He met me on the street and gave me the up-down creepy stare. Red flag. And then he pulled me in for a hug. Really red flag. I dislike when people I don’t know touch me. His hands rested too easily on my lower back; I pulled away with a jerky motion. “I guess you don’t like hugs.” No shit, Sherlock.

I returned the up-down look. He was wearing shorts, some sort of sneakers that you’d see in Pac Sun or Vans, a polo, glasses, and had hair that looked like it wasn’t sure if it should start receding now or in a couple years. I’m not sure if he used tactical camera angles or if this qualifies as being catfished. 

We ate Italian food at the bar. I had more fun talking to Brian, the bartender, than I did my date. I think it is safe to say I was donion rings this early in the date. Brian even knew it; he gave me extra tequila in my “Redheads Have More Fun” cocktail to dull the ache of lameness. The dude had just finished telling me about his plans to watch anime at his friends’ house while they cooked gourmet food when I think Brian knew I had checked out of the date. I just wanted to leave and go home to watch Netflix in my pajamas and drink wine all night. When Lame Sauce my date finished eating his chicken dish, I tried to split the check with him so I could bug out guilt free. “No, I got it. You can pay for dessert.” I don’t want to fucking spend time with you anymore!

We walked a block over from the restaurant/bar and stopped in front of a house. “This is me. Do you want to come upstairs and watch a Ghibli movie? You said you liked those, right?” Fuck. I don’t want to spend time with you OR GO INTO YOUR FUCKING HOUSE! 

“Are you trying to cheat me out of my ice cream?” I have no idea how the fuck I came up with something this nice to say. I am about as tactless as they come. I was ready to say “Fuck you, I’m not going into your house, you creep” and then punch him in the teeth so I could skip back to my child-abductor-minivan. I guess I’m learning things in my mid twenties, guile being one of them.

We went to this Italian dessert store that smelled like Diabeetus. It was a very pretty place. The glass counters were filled with sweets of every sort (particularly cannolis) and there was a fuck ton of fancy gelato flavors. I made a bee line for the frozen treats, eager to rid myself of this waifu-seeking dingleberry. He stood next to me in line and kept awkwardly making physical contact with me. It was like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to put his arm around my waist or hold my hand. I didn’t want to do any of that so I kept fidgeting out of his reach. I wish I was in this pretty cookie house with someone else besides this elbow!

I bought the gelato and wanted to high tail it back to my car, but this dude wasn’t having it. “Let’s go for a walk.” I want to walk into oncoming traffic but this gelato is hella good so I will finish this first and then die.

On our walk I learned that he really, really, REALLY likes anime. He also had a Japanese ex-girlfriend who sucked at driving. Go fucking figure that anime-dude-seeking-waifu had a Japanese girlfriend. On our way back to my car he rested his hand on my lower back and tried to snake his arm around my waist. I blew a gasket right there on the sidewalk in Harbor East.

“Don’t fucking touch me. I don’t know you, and you definitely don’t know me because you sure as shit wouldn’t be breaking my personal space so easily if you knew how much I disliked it.”

“Oh. Wow. I’m sorry. If I had known, I wouldn’t have touched you.” BRUH, WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING SOMEONE YOU JUST MET AN HOUR AGO?! WHY ARE YOU INVITING A STRANGER INTO YOUR HOUSE?! I COULD RAPE YOU WITH A GLASS COKE BOTTLE! I COULD SELL YOUR KIDNEYS ON THE BLACK MARKET AND FILL THE EMPTY CAVITY WITH HOT SAUCE! 

He walked me to my car and asked, “So do you think we can do this again?”

“No. I feel no attraction to you. Thanks for dinner.” I shook his hand and drove away.

So now I’m at home drinking kale juice and blogging about weird, creepy dates.

I’ve got another one tomorrow.

One thought on “Date in Little Italy

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