We had a delightful phone conversation that lasted over an hour. He had an interesting past, which included working for the CIA. As a liberal, I asked isn't it an oxymoron to attend the George Bush Center for Intelligence? I was looking forward to the first date after emailing and having such a delightful conversation.
My expectations to be picked up by James Bond were dashed when his 007mobile had broken down. So I had to drive.
When I picked him up, I hope the disappointment didn't show on my face as I saw that the "few pounds" he had gained since the photograph made him look more Marlon Brando-esque(the pre-death years not the dashing young stud years.)
I'm not a small woman by any means but at least I'm healthy ("sturdy" as my sister calls me) and I am in really good shape. I can't help it if I'm genetically cursed with the big-girl genes. At least I can wear the small big girl jeans. I love going to Lane Bryant because it's the only place were I can feel like a petite little flower. I'm an extra small fat chick.
But there's big and then there's BIG. As he hobbled to my car on his swim-shoe- wearing, fallen arched feet,he told me about how he had just found out that his best friend had died 10 minutes ago. The evening was only beginning. It went downhill from there. Yes hard to believe that was starting on a good note.
I thought, well at least he has a great sense of humor and I thought the evening could be salvaged with the start of a friendship.
As he ate his meat-ka-bob and I nibbled on my rice and beans, I saw the sweat trickle down his forehead. I thought...heh I know I'm hot and exciting...but really try to play it cool guy.
That is when I realized that he was starting to politely choke. He asked where the bathroom was and it was through the dingy kitchen and up the narrow steep rickety stairs. He managed to make it there and back... only to have him excuse himself to go outside and throw up.
He wanted to know if I'd mind if we called it an evening (would I mind...are you kidding me...no I wanted the night to seem like it would never end.)
As I dropped him off at his place, he wanted to know if I'd send him a naked photo of myself over the internet and call him when I got home.
When I told my Mom about this date, she said "you don't want a date who's half dead."
