Dates From Hell

Photo:Creative Commons/Joi Ito/flickr

When you find yourself dating again in your forties, it's a very different experience from dating as a teenager or college student. For starters, as a teen or in college, you already know most of your potential dates.You exist in a sea of possibilities. Almost everyone you meet is single and likely as not, looking for someone too. As a forty-something, everything's different. Your friends are all married. So is everyone you work with. You don't hang out with an extended group of singles and mingle where the unattached abound. Instead, you find yourself being introduced to friends of co-workers, brothers of acquaintances, someone's cousin....none of whom you've ever met or even heard of. You truly don't know what you're in for.

I should point out that during the course of these dating experiences, I met a lot more perfectly nice people than dates from hell. But it's the dates from hell who tend to leave a more lasting impression. They also leave you to wonder what you ever did to the person who arranged the meeting.(Or what you want to do next time you see her!) I think I've found the answer to that riddle (and you might want to file this away for future reference in case someone you know fixes you up with the DFH) instead of being offended, or insulted, and wondering how anyone could think you'd want to meet this loser; try to remember that the matchmaker is obviously looking at her brother, cousin or friend through the eyes of love. This really helps. Perhaps not enough for you to see your date in the same way, but maybe enough to prevent you from "unfriending" the person who recommended him!

In my defense, just in case I sound fickle, judgmental or conceited; I'm not talking about guys whose cologne I didn't like, or who weren't dressed in perfect G.Q. style. No, we're talking about genuine, card-carrying contenders for the DFH hall of fame.

Without further ado, let me share with you some of my hellish experiences in the unpredictable world of post-divorce dating. Brace yourself--it could be a little scary.

Photo:Creative Commons:evelynsimak/geograph.org.uk

I worked in a large city, 50 miles from home. He was a co-worker's brother. She said he was a good guy, with a good job--supervisor for a large construction firm in the city. Single, about my age, not into the bar scene, finding it hard to meet a nice woman. (so far, so good). "He's a big guy", she said.. Great I thought. I'm not short and I like to wear heels, "And he does have a unique personality" she added. I didn't see the red flag--I like people who celebrate their individuality. (This was my first date from hell. I had a lot to learn.)

On the phone he sounded impressive--Henry Kissinger without the accent. He suggested dinner at a very nice restaurant in the city. He sure knew where to go on a first date! Since I lived 50 miles away, we agreed to meet after work, at a mall near my job.

When my shift was over, I changed into a chic black dress, and my hottest pair of high heels. After all, my date was a big city guy, and we were going to a trendy place. Encouraged by my co-workers' assurances that I looked great, I set off.

When I got to the meeting place, he wasn't there. Thinking he must be stuck in traffic, I walked around the mall for a while and came back. Still not there. But the older man who'd been there when I walked in saw me this time. He waved and tentatively called my name. Yes, my date! He wasn't as old as I'd thought. I just hadn't expected him to be bald. Big guy? Yes, indeed! Conservative estimate--well over 350 pounds. To be fair, I had interpreted "big guy" as "strapping construction worker ". OK, bald can be sexy, and it wasn't his fault that I'd misconstrued the "big guy" description.

The rest was harder to justify. He wore a red and black flannel shirt over a brown t-shirt. His 2-inch wide camouflage suspenders were powerless to support his sagging jeans. Not one to shrink from adversity, I put on a smile and followed him to his car. From behind I was treated to a generous view of plumber's....um.... "problem". An enormous pickup truck awaited. It sported running boards and curb feelers.

Driving cross-town in a large city, you expect to encounter a lot of traffic lights. You don't expect that at each red light, your date will open the door, lean out and vigorously spit with an audible "splat". He wasn't chewing tobacco (though that wouldn't have surprised me). Apparently he just really enjoyed spitting. Between splats, I tried to make small talk.

On arrival at the restaurant, he opened his door. Assuming he was coming around to open mine, I was busy searching for my handbag and smoothing my dress, I didn't notice that he was still by his open door with his back to me until I heard a distinctive trickling sound. That's when I realized that, barely concealed by the truck's door, in the parking lot of a busy restaurant, my DFH was peeing! Mortified, I clung to a faint hope that if the place had a coat and tie rule, we wouldn't get in. To my great disappointment, we were shown to our seats.

Along with the food came another shock. The DFH removed his four front teeth (a bridge) and set them on the table. With a shrug, and a truly revolting grin, he explained "I can't chew a steak with that damn thing! " It wasn't easy with the teeth in close proximity, but I managed an occasional bite. Meanwhile, the DFH devoured his food, then used the corner of a sugar packet (from the container on the table) to pick his remaining teeth. Mission accomplished, he put the other four teeth back in his mouth and put the sugar packet back in the container. ( I still cringe when I see sugar packets in restaurants ) I declined dessert.

On the return trip, he left a duplicate trail of spit on the opposite side of the street. When I made no attempt at conversation, he said "I guess I seem kind of 'low-maintenance' to a girl like you." As I stammered, lost for a reply, he added "My sister probably didn't warn you I'm a little rough around the edges. She's used to me, and she forgets"

Thinking--His sister seems normal. I've seen her husband--he's normal. I thought she'd know I had similar tastes--I realized the DFH was still talking."Grandpa was a hog farmer, and I'm proud to be just like him. At heart, I'm a hog farmer, so, what you see is what you get." Was it possible he was saying he knew he was repulsive, and just didn't care? Yes, and I could take it or leave it!.

Back at my car, I thanked him for dinner and didn't wait for him to open my door. Driving home, one thought haunted me. DFH's existence was proof that the grandpa who was just like him had somehow convinced a woman to marry him, and have at least one child! If his sister wondered why I didn't see him again, she never asked.

Photo:Creative Commons/Vinoth Chandar/flickr.com

He wasn't the brother of someone I worked with. He was the cousin of someone I worked with! By the time I met this DFH, I was working in a different place, conveniently located in my own town.

He was such a great guy, his cousin said. He'd been happily married, but had lost his wife. Not recently, she assured me. It had been a few years. He was no longer grief stricken. He'd even dated a few people, but hadn't met anyone he'd really hit it off with.

He wanted to start slowly--just meeting for coffee at first. That was fine with me, and our first meeting went well. Over coffee and croissants, (Diet Coke and croissants for me--I hate coffee) we had a nice first meeting. He was easy to talk to, personable, not bad looking, either.The subject of his late wife didn't come up. I learned that he liked golf, loved his work--he was an accountant, and had read a lot of the same books I'd read. I left the coffee shop convinced that I'd met a really nice, interesting person. I hoped he thought so too.

A few days later, he called to see if I was free for lunch on Saturday. Again, not an actual date--just meeting somewhere for lunch. He thought it was wise to get to know a person before getting involved. I thought so, too. Lunch went well. It was a warm spring day, and we even took a walk in a park along the riverbank afterward. This time he had mentioned his wife. He'd told me her name was Jen, said they'd never had children, and talked a little about what she was like. He told me she'd died quite suddenly, then changed to happier subjects. We parted with a promise to talk soon. I was encouraged that he'd felt comfortable enough to talk about his wife, and hadn't seemed to dwell sadly on his loss.

He called later in the week. He was in a great mood, and we talked for a long time. Before saying good-bye, we'd agreed to go out . A genuine date--he'd pick me up at my house for dinner and a movie.

He arrived looking great. He met my dogs--they liked him, he liked them. A good sign. I took him on the grand tour of my house. When we left, he asked if I'd mind making a small detour--it would only take a few minutes--he'd gotten behind on things earlier, and there was something he needed to do before dark. Of course I didn't mind. I was a little surprised when, a short time later, he drove through the gates of a cemetery. There was no doubt then of our destination. He explained that he usually stopped by on Saturdays, to make sure things were in order, and spend a quiet minute. I could walk over with him, or wait in the car if I wasn't comfortable with that. I went with him. I was flattered that he wanted to include me in this private moment. As we approached, I was surprised to see that his name too, was engraved on the stone. People do that, I know, but he was only in his 40s. He might even re-marry someday. We stood quietly for a minute, then he took my hand, smiled and said "Ready?"

Once underway, he apologized for the delay, and said he hoped it hadn't made me uncomfortable. I assured him that it hadn't (but I did think that visiting the grave of my date's wife was definitely a first for me) On the way to the restaurant we'd chosen, he said "Hey, we're only a couple of blocks from my house. Why don't I give you the grand tour before dinner?" I was curious to see his house, so I said I'd love that.

The house was lovely--inviting and beautifully decorated, complete with a large white cat, who purred loudly and rubbed against my ankles. "He was Jen's", said my date, "I guess he likes having a woman here.". I noticed there were several pictures of Jen in the living room, and elsewhere. When the grand tour reached the bedroom (don't worry--the story's not going there) he stood behind me, hands on my shoulders, and said "It means so much that you were willing to visit Jen's grave with me. I've never asked anyone to do that, but you're so kind and empathetic--I knew you were the one." "The one?" I asked, feeling a little uneasy. "The one who would understand" he said as he stepped around me and opened a closet. It was filled with dresses, a woman's shoes were neatly lined up on the floor, scarves and accessories hung on special hangers. "You're her size", he said, pulling a dress from its hanger. "Would you do me a special favor tonight?". I stared, speechless, at the red dress he held. The only sound was the cat, Jen's cat, purring as it twined around my legs. I think I whispered "I'm sorry" before I ran out. Not knowing what else to do, I just sat in his car. After a while, he came out and drove me home.

Image:Creative Commons/wikimedia/trialanderror/flickr.com

I ran into a friend one day, someone I talked to now and then. We spent some time catching up, and hearing that I was still single, she said there was a really nice guy who worked with her husband. He'd been divorced about six months, wasn't still hung up on his ex ,and it would be fun if the four of us could get together sometime. I wouldn't be alone with a stranger and she'd have an excuse to get her husband out of the house. She'd check with her husband, have him check with the potential date, and arrange a night we'd all be free. She said good-bye, promising to call when she got it all worked out. It seemed like such a long shot, I really didn't expect to hear from her.

The friend, whose name was Amy, did call back. Yes, her husband's friend was interested. Yes, her husband was willing to go. Now I had a decision to make. I'd pretty much given up on dating. I went out occasionally but there was nothing serious. Was meeting someone new even worth the effort? Finally, leaving it up to chance, I said if I was off when everyone was free, I'd go. Since I worked every other weekend, the odds were only 50/50. As luck would have it, I was off on the date she suggested.

The three of them arrived to pick me up. My date was tall, a little on the skinny side, and had a lot of blonde hair. He had a name, too, but I think of him as "The Magician". Why? Well, he certainly wasn't a Magic Man, and he couldn't pull a rabbit out of his hat--but he knew how to make a woman disappear!

It started out well enough. I was introduced to my date by Amy's husband, Jim. He seemed happy to meet me, and we settled into the back seat for the drive. He spent a lot of the time leaning forward to talk to Amy and Jim, but since the three of them knew each other better, I supposed it was natural. We arrived at our destination, found a booth and ordered drinks. The band hadn't started playing yet, and we spent some time getting acquainted. At least I tried to get acquainted. Amy talked to me, and Jim politely asked me some questions. My date seemed more interested in talking about their company picnic.

As soon as the band started, he grabbed Amy's hand and said "Come on, let's get the dance floor warmed up." Jim laughed and he and I sat, smiling awkwardly at each other as we watched my date dance with his wife.When they rejoined us, I noticed that even when the DFH did talk to me, it was through Amy. "Amy", he'd say, "Tell umm (and he'd jerk his head toward me) about you dancing with the boss at the picnic."

When he tried to drag her to the dance floor again (this time for a slow dance) Amy reminded him that he hadn't yet danced with me. Jim got up to dance with Amy. DFH said it wasn't the song he thought it was, so he'd just sit this one out. He sat mesmerized, watching Amy and Jim . Well, watching Amy, anyway. She'd been right about one thing. My date definitely wasn't hung up on his ex. He was hung up on her. Whether she and Jim were aware, I had no idea. She wasn't encouraging him--but his behavior would have been pretty hard to miss.

As the evening went on, I became invisible. The DFH noticed Amy's drink was gone, and offered to go to the bar for more. He asked us all (even me!) what we wanted. I asked for another Diet Coke.(I can't drink beer) My empty Diet Coke bottle had been sitting unseen in front of him for almost an hour. He came back with the drinks, gave Amy hers with a theatrical bow and set a bottle of the same in front of me."I couldn't remember what you were drinking", he said "so I just got what Amy was having." If I'd left while he was gone, he'd have set a beer in front of the empty seat and never noticed!

After a few more dances, and a few more drinks, Amy and Jim, as people will, became a little amorous. Nothing embarrassing--just sitting close, and nuzzling. It was too much for the DFH, though.Stretching, and yawning, he announced that he had to be somewhere early and, maybe we should think about going. "Amy", he said, "ask uh--" (this time he jerked his thumb in my direction) "if she's ready to call it a night". (I was)

Once in the car, the DFH leaned forward and said "Hey buddy, I've really got to make an early start--could you drop me off first?" Jim and Amy both started to say " But what about-" I interrupted quickly to say " Oh please YES!".

Alone in the back seat, I was glad to be spared the embarrassment of DFH's presence. When I got out of the car, Amy got out and gave me a sympathetic hug, and Jim walked me to the door. "I'm sorry about this" he said. "He's always been a little obsessed with Amy. We thought if he met someone attractive and nice....but.--" he just shook his head and said goodnight.