The Coolest Guy (of 1942)

I had taken my friend for outpatient surgery and was passing time in the hospital cafeteria. I engaged in a conversation with a very hot thirty something Dr. He noted my accent and asked where I was from. He then told me his colleague was from my hometown and that we just had to meet. I was dubious but this guy was HOT and what the heck? I didn't give him my number but a few days later he had his secretary track me down and i agreed to let Dr. X call me. He called me at work so we couldn't chat but we arranged to go out for dinner. My roommate was impressed when I told her I was having dinner with a renowned cardiologist from my hometown. My cafeteria friend had described him as tall and handsome. I was in my room getting ready and my roommate told me there was a Rolls Royce pulling into our driveway. I knew I was in trouble when I heard her answer the door. "Good evening sir" I heard her say and then I could hear her in her room, stifling her laughter into her pillow. She was laughing too hard to explain so I just took a deep breath and went into the living room. There he was, he was tall for sure, but he was also ANCIENT! It hadn't crossed my mind to ask how old he was. I was 25 at the time and expected a thirty something guy. He was around 70, had a gold shirt unbuttoned to reveal his tacky, but expensive, gold chains and his turkey neck and wrinkled chest. He smiled and his wrinkly, tanned and creased face revealed a full set of too white dentures. His toupee was ridiculous. What could I do? We went to dinner where he droned on about his investments and I drank too much wine. He then took me to a party which was great but I wanted out of there so I told him I was very tired. It was 9:15. He said he'd take me home but needed to stop off at home first. Uh Oh. He drove up this long winding path, expensive security system, six car garage and invited me in. Since I had to "go" I did go into his house where he offered me a drink. I accepted a glass of water and watched him pour himself a nice, stiff drink. He half lay on the couch and I sat perched on a ktichen chair, ready to bolt. To my delight, he promptly fell asleep. It was very classy the way his mouth hung open and for a moment I wondered if he'd died! I checked for a pulse and then took off out of there, sprinting down the winding dark driveway and onto the road and walked to the closest 7-11 where I summoned my roommate to come and get me. He never called again and I'm thinking he probably thought he dreamt the whole thing.

Germany Attacks France...(I wish they'd quit doing that!)

I had been a member of an online dating service for a few months, and had had some good dates, but no one who particularly captured my interest. Then I began communicating with a guy who seemed to have everything I was looking for: religion, culture, worldliness, education, a stable job, not to mention being really good-looking. After some emails and phone conversations, we planned to meet for drinks. I was a little irked that he wanted to meet out in his neck of the woods, a good 25 miles away-my mother always said a gentleman comes to the lady- but figured I could use a change of scenery after all. We got to the parking garage at the same time, so I saw him get out of his shiny black Porsche. I'm not materialistic by any means, but I AM obsessed with fast foreign cars. So I'm thinking this guy is indeed a total package. So we're seated...he says he's not hungry, but I am, and order an appetizer. We're having a fantastically entertaining and intelligent conversation-something SO important to me-about the different countries we've visited, art, history, literature, politics, etc. Except that if we disagreed on something, he kept saying, "You'll get over it." Meaning, I'd eventually agree to his way of thinking. I was really starting to get pissed off and decided to look at the wine list. Well, I could hardly contain myself, because the restaurant had my favorite French wine, which is very hard to find here. BIG MISTAKE. I had totally forgotten that he was born and raised in Germany and next thing I know, I'm getting a lecture about WWII and how screwed up France is-not to mention their position on the current war. After listening to this litany for about ten minutes, and I mean, it was REALLY BAD, I very diplomatically said that we probably would not be a good match, as 1) I've been speaking French since I was eight; 2) I am a member of the Alliance Francaise; and 3) I've been to Paris more times than I've been to the corner store. That's when it really hit the fan. He told me that I shouldn't have said that, just continued with the date and parted ways quietly, and, oh, yes, while I had a SOMEWHAT pretty face (okay, not to sound conceited, but all of my friends describe me as "stunning"), I really wasn't anything to write home about, and in fact I was "just a b**** like all the rest" of the women he meets. I very quietly placed some money on the table-which was more than enough to pay for the appetizer I barely got two bites of, since he was, in fact, hungry, and his three beers-and walked out.

The Archives

Don't forget to check our archive pages for such timeless classics as
"The Stain in Spain" and "If the Spew Fits"...ah, romance (sniff,sniff...makes me a little misty). and of course if you'd like to share your own bad date with the world, we'd love to hear it! Just send us an e-mail at baddatesite@yahoo.com or leave it in the comments section below.

The Dangers of Smoking

This happened a number of years ago. It was a hot August afternoon in the Southwest and I was driving home after a day of swimming with my new sweetie. She was looking very fine in her teeny , tiny bikini and all I had on was a pair of cutoffs. As we drove back to her place, stealing glances back and forth, I took a cigarette from a pack in my visor. Suavely placed it between my lips and with my thumb cooly flicked a wooden match into flame...unfortunately I also managed to "cooly flick" the burning sulpher head off of the match. Where, speeding along at 40 MPH, I watched it fall onto my most prized possesions, that had apparently found their way out of the leg of my cutoffs. Now I don't know wether it was the terrifying swerving of my Volkswagon, my high pitched screams, or the torrent of swearing that followed, but for some reason, she didn't invite me in...love hurts.