Lindsay's date from hell

Ladies and gentlemen, we've got another horror story from the dating trenches. This one comes to us from Ms. Lindsay, and it tops any of my so-called worst dates. Hell, I couldn’t even imagine anything this bizarre—and I’ve got a pretty good imagination. Thanks for sharing, darlin’.

Lindsay met him for the first time on a Friday night. Within 10 minutes, he had berated old girlfriends and opined that all women are clingy and needy. (Who leads with that? He couldn’t think of a single topic other than past girlfriends and negative stereotypes about women? I mean, talk about the weather. Discuss current events. Ask about her day or her hobbies, for goddess’ sake.) Despite the awkward beginning, they played pool and darts and had a great time. He seemed fun and smart.

At the end of the night, he asked her what she thought of him, which is a wee bit weird in itself. She said she was still deciding. Put off, he asked her why. She explained that she was unimpressed by his sexist and chauvinistic oratory at the evening’s start. To his credit, he apologized and clarified that he had been speaking of his own past girlfriends and shouldn’t have extended his nasty generalizations to all female humanoids. I believe he said, “Oh, not all women [are clingy and needy]. Just the ones I’ve dated.” (Lovely.) In a fledging bid for sainthood, Lindsay decided to see him again, and they made a date for the following weekend.

Before the weekend arrived, however, he said he couldn’t possibly wait that long to see her, so she saw him twice in that week. During one of these mini-dates, he requested to spend the night at her apartment and to “sleep next to her in bed.” (Does this smack of complete b.s. to anyone else? Based on personal experience, that statement coming from most men is akin to Augustus Gloop—the gluttonous, grossly obese* boy in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory who falls into the chocolate river and is sucked into a chocolate extraction pipe—contending that he will only eat a tiny sliver of chocolate.) Lindsay’s response was that he needed to slow down.

At some point during one of these little interludes, he also announced that he didn't like her seeing other people and demanded that she decide whether or not they were exclusive by the next date. (I would’ve been done here, despite the deeply ingrained Midwestern niceness. The older I get, the less crap I’m willing to take. I mean, I’m not off-base here, am I? It is rather strange to request that someone decide on exclusivity after a few paltry dates, right? I’ve taken longer to decide on purchasing shoes—and those are sometimes more practical than some relationships.)

The weekend arrived and it was time for the second official date, which took place at an Italian restaurant. In the car, he announced that he didn’t want his partner to get pregnant because “women get fat and bitchy when they’re pregnant” and “the sex is never the same." (Again, why begin with comments that make your date contemplate the logistics—and potential pain quotient—of hurtling herself out of the moving vehicle? How does that topic even present itself?) After arguing a bit about the veracity or appropriateness of his comments, they agreed to disagree.

I hope y’all are still reading because this is where the juicy stuff begins. Here’s a sample of some interesting he shared with her in the course of the date:
· “I want you to be the mother of my children.” (Lindsay and I are utterly baffled as to how that would transpire without her being “fat and bitchy” and decimating their future love life.)
· “I am ready to exchange promise rings.” (Lindsay’s comment: After a week?)
· “I would want to get married in six months.” (L. again: Again, a week?)
· “You should come with me to Arizona to meet my parents.” (L.: Yikes!)

Next, he launched into more…explicit matters. Lindsay doesn’t believe in sex before marriage, which she had divulged, and he had said he was fine with it. Alas, he next told her his last relationship was predominantly about sex and then proceeded to explain how dating resembled “legalized prostitution.” You see, “I bought her things and she gave me sex.” Since Lindsay wasn’t going to sleep with him, he relayed his immediate expectations on this front:
· “I need to sleep next to you.”
· “Well, can I go down on you?”
· “Would you at least give me a blow job?”

Next, he asked her to send him a naked photo. (You gotta give the boy credit for perseverance.) When she refused, he inquired how he was supposed to show his friends how amazing her chest is without a photo. (Because men never discussed women’s breasts before the advent of photography.) And then he came up with a brilliant solution: “You don’t have to include your face in the picture.”

Needless to say, Lindsay was finished by this time. In retrospect, she fully admits that she should've run screaming from the restaurant (or perhaps tossed a drink in his face. I’ve always wanted to do that if the circumstances justified it. Very Bette Davis.) before the full-on crazy set in, but for whatever reason, she didn’t.

She finally made it home, and this last little snippet was conducted via text after she’d arrived at her apartment. She told him he made her feel like a piece of meat and that she was not okay with his behavior and ideas. His response: “I can’t settle anymore. I’m done.” (Heaping dose of melodrama, anyone?)
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*Roald Dahl’s original novel describes Gloop as an enormous boy who has “fat bulging from every fold, with two greedy eyes peering out of his doughball of a head.” You gotta love Roald Dahl.