Since moving to Nashville, I have noticed the weirdest incidences. I am sure you have had similar situations where a date stands you up and uses the lamest excuse possible...that is if you are lucky enough to get an explanation. However, my circumstances seem to have taken me on a trip to The Twilight Zone.
The first time I encountered such a man was back in late fall of 2007 at the Olive Garden in Madison. Maybe it was my scrawny bowlegs that refused to be hidden under blue jeans that scared off my blind date. I sat on the benches in front of the restaurant waiting for this potential knight in shining armor to share a romantic pasta dinner with me. After fifteen minutes had passed, my phone rang. Maybe my date was running late and was being courteous enough to call. I answered with the anticipation of a high school student waiting to be asked out for prom. It was my date. Apparently, the closet case was driving around the building and wanted to ask me a personal question to see if we were compatible enough to have dinner. Being desperate, I answered the question of whether or not the doctor did a little snip operation on the day I was born. Unfortunately, I didn’t give the right answer. I received an excuse about him being Jewish and that he couldn’t date or have friends with an extra piece of skin.
Between late fall and late spring, I encountered more excuses. The last one was a no show happened just recently. I met Randy by accident at Red one Sunday night. I was sitting at the bar listening to musicals and having my usual dinner for one when a handsome public relations guy, named Randy, came up and ordered a beer.
We looked at each other and raised an eyebrow. Apparently, when you mirror a guy’s gesture, it’s a good sign. We both laughed about our identical movements and started talking about being transplants in Tennessee, politics, old television shows like Bewitched, Gilligan’s Island and The Factsof Life. My usual hour meal turned into a three-hour tour...I mean dinner.
At the end of the meal, Randy offered to walk me to my truck. To our delight, we parked right beside each other. I leaned in to give Randy a good night kiss as well as my number. I wasn’t ready for what transpired next. Randy accidentally bit my lip and blood started running down his chin. Pulling away, I told him what happened and offered to help wipe up the mess. Pulling a tissue out of the truck, I apologized and didn’t know what else to say.
Trying to change the subject, Randy mentioned he lived near the Germantown Café and that we should have dinner there on Thursday night. Agreeing, I placed my hope that maybe the worst was over. Unfortunately, four days later I was alone again at another restaurant.
Driving back from another great dinner alone, the radio blared “Another One Bites The Dust.” Maybe someone above me has a wicked sense of humor and is looking out for me or maybe when I moved here I really did end up in The Twilight Zone.