We all know that feeling you get when you meet someone great. You’re so excited that you try on multiple outfits before the first date and you’re giddy as a schoolgirl. I too felt this excitement when I met a handsome, fit massage therapist. Score! Who wouldn’t want to date a hot man who gives stellar back rubs?
Our first date was lighthearted and fun, with a bit more than banal conversation; he was funny! However, shortly after that, the not so subtle signs started to creep into conversation.
“Wow, he’s an attractive man,” in reference to our server, was Clue #1.
After dinner, I was invited to his super swanky loft-style bachelor pad for a nightcap. I was still game until he pressed play. It was time for Prince and watermelon martinis. I know I’m being horribly stereotypical, but come on!
Watermelon martinis, Clue #2.
I’m a trooper, so I pushed on when suddenly the walls were shaking and my seat was trembling. Folks, we have a full-on nosedive!
“You know, I was in prison once.”
Erm, now I do. Insert the winding anecdote of his unfortunate, yet brief time in prison. During that time, he discovered a fleeting (yet recurrent) taste for “robust” activities with men.
I quickly bid adieu that night, but he just wouldn’t go away. Following a dozen calls, a few emails and one random invite to a friend’s party at a gay bar, he came to the boutique I managed. As I took him out back to end his patheticism, I was welcomed into his inner psyche. Apparently, this poor man is plagued by an incessant dream featuring his girlfriends past. These ladies pelt him with tiny pickles while he cowers in front of the St. Louis Cathedral.
Oh, the glaring clues!
Honey, you are gay. Sure, I felt bad for him, but not bad enough to clean up that mess. I used to like pickles, too.
Illustration: “Pickles”, Nicole Album