Watching the post Oscar dissection the other day, one of the morning programs referred to the curse of the Oscar. Something about winning an Oscar and then never doing any quality work again. Which got me thinking. Is there a second date curse? Whereby you get to the second date and then never get any quality dates again? At least not with that person. Is this what is happening to me?
After my second date the other night, I’ve taken pause to reflect upon the way in which I conduct myself in these situations. In other words, I run through every single bad date I’ve had and wonder, yet again, what the hell is wrong with me?
Come with me dear reader as I offer up a selection of my experiences with second dates which have not lead to a third and ponder if you will, whether or not I was being too harsh, too picky if you will, when I made no effort to further my acquaintances with these chaps:
- Turned up late and announced “I was going to buy you some flowers at the servo, but then I didn’t”. Spent the evening questioning me about how to expedite his divorce online.
- Could only meet for dinner at 9pm. Was very rude to the waitress, leaving me mortified. Ordered a “shared” entree then proceeded to triple dip, expressing mild surprise when I declined to partake of this dish.
- Told me that I should be able to tell that he liked me because he’d “driven all this way to meet a single mum”.
- Spent the evening talking about his children and his ex-wife who was staying with him after she broke her leg, didn’t once ask me about myself or my children. Calculated the bill and split it down the middle, despite having said to me “I would really like to take you out for dinner”. My fault for assuming this meant something it clearly did not.
- Asked me out a second time almost a year after our first date. Clearly realised he’d made a mistake. Spent an hour drawing a picture of the inner workings of a tap so that I could change my own washers.
- Told me during dinner that he was still looking for someone through internet dating because he wanted to truly fall in love and that wasn’t going to happen with me.
Clearly I’m a masochist, right? I mean why do I keep going back? And how is it that I am so utterly repellant that there aren’t any chaps at all out there for me? A part of me really wants to throw in the towel and bury my head in a bucket of Ben & Jerrys. But the fact is, I pretty much was doing that and it wasn’t making me happy either.
So in my year of yes, I’m continuing to say yes to getting out there and looking for love. In the meantime, if you know anyone, about 6 feet tall, dark hair, mid-40’s who reads in bed and likes a curvaceous gal, would you send him my way? Thanks.