Friday, August 12, 2011

Adventures in Dating, Episode Two: Enter Dutch

This is part two of my "Adventures in Dating" series.  The fun starts here: Adventures in Dating, Episode One

I feel I'm emotionally ready to tell you about it now.

His name was Rich, but he will forever be "Dutch" to me.  His photos showed a passably cute, if perhaps a bit eccentric, late-40-ish man with sweet eyes and a mischievous smile.  After several witty email exchanges, we spoke by phone on Sunday afternoon and made plans for a Tuesday night dinner. 

On the plus side, he informed me he spent half the year in the U.K. and the the other half managing his real estate investments in Boulder, Colorado (ka-ching!).  On the minus side, when he spoke he had that sort of fake part-time British accent that Madonna had while married to Guy Ritchie.  Much like my current approach to Madonna, I simply chose to ignore his use of the term "MO-biyle" when referring to his cell phone and I made myself stop cringing when he said something about going "across the pond."

Why yes, I'm wealthy & well-adjusted and somehow inexplicably single!

Did I mention I was horribly lonely? 

So we agreed to meet for dinner at a little Mediterranean restaurant in Golden.  I was running late due to a business obligation, so he beat me to the restaurant and when I arrived he was seated on the patio.  Okay, I thought to myself, he at least looks like his photos.  I sat opposite of him with hope in my heart and perused the wine list.  Just as I was selecting a $9 glass, he mentioned that while he was waiting for me he saw a bar down the street where we could each get a hamburger, fries and a beer for $5-- and maybe we should go do that after this drink.

Exactly what part of me says to you that I want to go to a bar where you can get a hamburger, fries and a beer for $5?  Are we in college?  Are you retarded?  And how can you afford to live in two separate countries if you can't afford this restaurant?

Instead of confronting this head on, I smiled sweetly and made some sort of noncommittal noise in my throat.  And so we commenced with the "getting-to-know-you" stuff.  I learned that he owns several rental properties in Boulder and enjoys tormenting the liberal hippies of that particular community (did he not read my profile in which I specifically stated my political leaning as liberal?).  I learned that he has a girlfriend in England who totally understands that he dates when he's in the U.S. (oh, I bet).  And finally I learned of his strong stance against drinking and driving.  It came out like this:  "If I have another drink, I'm going to have to spend the night with you.  I'm not going to get a DUI on my way back to Boulder."

Oh, reeeeeeeally?  Well then I'd suggest you not order another drink, Mr. Powers.  We won't be shagging tonight.

And yes, he had already used the term "shag."

Suffice it to say that I had heard enough and was ready to go.  The waitress brought our check and I sat stone still, waiting for him to reach for it. Seriously, Lot's Wife has nothing on me-- it's like I became an inanimate object while that check rested between us.  I kept glancing at my cell phone (or perhaps, my "MO-biyle") and exclaiming to him that my boss wouldn't leave me alone about a project.  That horrible bitch!  (Incidentally, she was a horrible bitch, but my phone was completely silent.)

45 minutes later, as I remained glacially still waiting for him to pay the check and my anxiety began to surpass Xanax-treatable levels, he finally picked it up and said "Well, let's see...your wine was $9 and I had a pint.  So here, I'll just give you a five." 

And yes, he said "pint."

I can almost guarantee that my nostrils flared.

As we were walking out of the restaurant, he again suggested the $5 deal down the street.  I told him that I had to get back to work and so I thought probably not.  Remembering my experience several days earlier with "The Tongue" (see Adventures in Dating, Episode One), I then mentioned that he didn't need to walk me to my car, and so we hugged it out.

Tormenting liberals, indeed.

Did I mention I was horribly lonely?

Farewell, Dutch.  Pip pip and cheerio, Guv-nah!  Modern-day Madonna had a better shot than you... and she makes my ass twitch.

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