I had this one memorable (!) date back in '89 that I still talk about at parties.
We met through a personal ad, and exchanged many different calls before we set a date to actually date. I was leery.. but he sounded so cute, and educated (he'd been to Georgetown, you know) and worked for DuPont and seemed stable and safe. Boy was that a stretch. We met at a nice inner-city pub that we'd both talked about. Quiet, dim-lit, and cozy. I was self-concious about being out late..Parking in the city was a bitch at night on a Saturday. But he sounded so worth it.
I showed up on time, and sat at the bar as planned. He arrived 20 minutes late. Dressed nicely, except for the converse hi-tops that seems outta place. He was visibly well on his way to being drunk, and instantly a charmer with his first "Wow.. you're a little BIG, aren't you?" quip.
He WAS cute. Handsome, really in that "my father's a doctor" waspy kind of way. But as the evening lingered he became more and more arrogant. What happens to the men who talk sweet on the phone, and then show up as the irritable drunked buttheads they really are?
I listened to his rants about his new RX-7 which he got for graduation..and how he'd actually been FORCED to go to Georgetown, having been thrown out of some other school. Daddy was an ass..but all was cool now, 'cause he'd landed this job at DuPont and was rakin' the suckers over for a huge salary that he didn't deserve.
By the end of the already on-my-nerves date, he'd become SO intoxicated that I was afraid to let him drive home. I guess I deserve my punishment, since I wanted to do the right thing..and I suggested I drive him home.
He didn't want to go home..he didn't want to go home drunk (again) ..so of course, Polly-Anna here said: "Fine. You can stay overnight with me.. but NO funny stuff." He gave me that look that said: Honey, you're too fat for me anyway. So I guessed I was safe.
He'd drive, he said.
"Oh, no the hell you won't, sugar" I said. "If you could drive home, you'd be driving yourSELF home at this point, so get in".
He didn't want to drive in a Buick, he said.. and besides - he wasn't leaving his RX-7 in the city.
Fine. I told him I'd drive HIS car to MY place, and that he could take it or leave it.
He was passed out cold in the passenger seat when I arrived home a half an hour later. I decided to let him sleep in his car, until he woke up.. which was noon the next day. He woke up, rang the bell and asked me if I let him sleep out there all night (duh!) and did I have a good time? I just gave him a look of disgust. He then asked if I knew how to get to the interstate from .. where was he?
I said: Down the street, left on Main at the light, and go *&^*# yourself.
I rolled my eyes, and slammed the door and just laughed at my luck.