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“Hey,” I texted him at 6:30pm. “I think I’m going to be a little bit late tonight. Can we push it back to 8:15?”
This is the standard line I use before every single date, because A) I probably will be late and B) “Are we still on for later?” sounds so desperate. Nothing had changed in the past 18 hours since we’d set the date, so there’s no logical reason we wouldn’t still be on, but before I put in the effort to shave my legs, I had to confirm.
“8:15 sounds good. See you there ;)”
Ugh. A winky face. I hated this guy already. Though I suppose this is what I get for continuing to chase after guys who are old enough to not quite be my dad, but perhaps a young, spritely uncle. I got to business on my makeup in an effort to transform from the gargoyle I saw before me to the something that sort of matched what I looked like in my pictures, while my roommate sat on my bed and asked what I was going to wear.
“Do you think I should take an Uber?”
“Where are you guys going again?”
“Some new restaurant downtown. It just opened this week.”
“Que fancy.”
“I just don’t want him to think I’m, like, assuming I’m going to get really drunk on this date. He’s like a hundred, and I don’t want to seem like this young party girl who’s not to be taken seriously. I don’t really plan to drink a lot, anyway, ya know? I just always end up drinking just a little bit too much to drive. Like the kind of drunk where, ya know, I can get home if I have to, but I probably shouldn’t, and I’d definitely get a DUI if I get caught.”
“Ugh. Yeah. The worst. You should just call a ride then. Parking down there is a bitch anyway. Besides, he won’t know you called an Uber unless you tell him.”
Under my roommate’s advisement, I wore a green dress, a denim jacket, and booties, then I called a ride. I arrived at 8:30. As we pulled up, I saw him, standing outside the restaurant in a sport coat waiting for me.
Fuck.
I’m underdressed. This place is swanky as hell. And I can’t fucking get out of the backseat of this Mazda right now where he can see me. What kind of fucking gentleman waits outside the restaurant for his date anyway?! Get with the times, Fancy Man, and sit at the bar staring at your phone until I arrive like some douchebag who started college post-T9 Word would.
“Hey, sorry to ask this, but can you pull up and drop me off around the corner?” I begged my driver.
“But this is the address you put in.”
“I know, I know. But that guy right there is my date tonight, and I want him to think I drove here.”
“What difference does it make?”
“Can you just pull up and pretend like you’re my mother on the first day of middle school? Jesus.”
There goes my Uber rating. I walked up to Fancy Man and apologized for my lateness, but explained I’d had trouble finding fictional parking. He opened the door for me and we walked in.
It wasn’t long before the server took our drink orders. Fancy Man asked for a wine recommendation. Normally I just order the second cheapest wine on the menu, because I don’t want to look like a cheap piece of shit, but mama’s not trying to break the bank. This was uncharted territory.
Ten minutes later, the server came out with a bottle of Merlot that was well down the wine list, and poured Fancy Man a taste, because it was that kind of place. I watched in awe, as he actually tasted it. I’m accustomed to awkwardly making eye contact with the schmuck who got stuck tasting the wine, as they gulp it down, unsure what they’re looking for, and quickly tell the waiter “Yeah, it’s fine.” What is this guy, a prince? Good lord.
We downed our first bottle quickly. And then a second. And I felt myself becoming more and more grateful I hadn’t driven as I started blurting out facts about myself that no man needs to know.
“Well, yeah. Sorry for being late again. I’m Italian, so it just takes a long time to shave.” You fucking stop that right now.
“Yeah, my parents are great, but my mom called me a cunt once, and I never quite got over it.” Girl, no.
“My ex-boyfriend was terrible. I think it’s because he had a tiny penis. Nothing worse than a tiny penis, ya know?” SHUT THE FUCK UP.
Then we ordered another bottle of wine.
The rest of the night is something of a blur. I remember migrating to a bar down the street and possibly taking shots? I asked the bartender how long he thought Fancy Man and I had been together, because I thought it would be so cute if he thought we were already a couple, and I loudly pouted about how empty the bar was. I called a girlfriend from the bathroom, and started divulging the deets of the night until I remember her saying, “Wait. You’re still there? We’ve been on the phone for a long time, you need to get back to him. He’s one hundred percent going to think you’re puking. Or worse. Shitting.”
And of course, I remember confessing to him, that I was, in fact, a piece of shit who expected to get too drunk to drive, as he waited with me for an Uber to arrive and take me home.
I’m now sitting here at my desk typing this, battling a hangover that will absolutely last through Saturday, possibly Sunday. My false lashes are sitting on a Post-It because I didn’t even pretend to shower before coming into work this morning. And a quick peek at my camera roll reveals that I spent at least fifteen minutes in the bar bathroom taking no fewer than 52 selfies at every different angle of my face imaginable, because — if memory serves me right — I wondered if I was still pretty from above, below, or beside myself. I don’t remember whether or not I had a good time, and I’m not sure if we kissed, but I do know that any hopes of convincing this guy I was a person with my shit together went straight down the toilet at 1:30am, along with the calamari we’d ordered.
Yet somehow by the grace of God, Buddha, Allah, or whatever deity you pray to, Fancy Man just texted me to see if I’d like to go out again sometime. Psycho..
Respond
Veronica
Veronica (@VeronicaRuckh) is a writer, editor and content manager for Grandex, Inc. After having spent her undergraduate years drinking $4 double LITs on a patio and drunk texting away potential suitors, she managed to graduate with an impressive GPA and an unimpressive engagement ring -- so unimpressive, in fact, some might say it's not there at all. Veronica has recently switched from vodka to wine on weekdays.
@VeronicaRuckh
@VeronicaRuckh
vmruckh
I’m thoroughly unimpressed with this guy’s closing abilities.
based on the age, and the waiting outside, he still old school and wouldn’t try on the first date
i’d agree with you if it wasnt for the fact that hes getting at 20 somethings when hes “not quite dad age”. Guy knows the shit show hes going after.
Especially because learning a significant amount about Veronica’s personality takes only the most cursory of Google searches.
I’m going to tag on this because it’s Friday so fuck it, but didn’t Veronica tell us roughly 24 hours ago to NOT go on dates until January?
also as a poster who has been downvoted to infinity previously mentioned, isnt uber and lyft banned in austin?
We still have rideshares. Didn’t think calling it a GetMe would translate.
She did.. slightly unimpressed by her flip-flopping
I don’t know why you would. From her, it’s expected
Probably wouldn’t have been consensual, on his part.
Serious question here: What if a man gets drunk, hooks up with a girl, and regrets it? Does he have the same recourse a woman has, i.e. I’m going to say I was raped?
You really want to open this can of worms on a Friday?
Yeah, that was a bad idea. Can we get an edit button?
What a disgusting comment
I want to start out by acknowledging that this
comment makes you sound like the sort of man that has non consensual sex with drunk women (aka a rapist). I’ll also point out that if a woman were have sex with a man that is too drunk to give his consent then he could and should identify that as rape.
And while I’m here I’ll just mention that it’s p cool that you’re trying to make a cheeky comment about one of the most traumatic things that will ever happen to 20 percent of women the US. This means that a woman that you know and care about has probably been raped/ sexually assaulted and it’s very possible that someone just like yourself tried to convince her that it wasn’t rape, just a drunk mistake, and consequently it was never reported and whoever assaulted her continued to assault and the women continue to be teased and mocked and told that what they’re feeling is just drunken regret and the cycle continues. Therein lies the rape culture that you and comments like yours actively contribute to.
You say “I don’t care” but all your comments are long af. Make up your mind
Woah, chill vibes only
Don’t pull me into your BS uber drive conversations. Are you Girl from TGDAG? It would make the most sense.
She refers to herself as “mama”, so…
I actually had to check and make sure I wasn’t reading TGDAG during the conversation with her roommate
Sorry, won’t happen again.
Your sins are forgiven!
Dating advice for a girl: Just show up.
You know who won’t judge you for taking an Uber? Most people. And cats.
Never order the second cheapest bottle of wine. It’s most likely worse than the cheapest bottle. Fun fact.
It’s almost always the cheapest wine marked up to not be the cheapest wine
Hey, I laughed. I feel that. Sometimes you get a little too lit on a first date trying to mask your nerves. Looks like Fancy Man did, too. I drank like 7 IPAs on my first date with my current boyfriend and he stuck around, even after I kissed him with my hop-breath. There’s always hope. Good luck with the hangover!
Sup?…Oh, boyfriend……….sup?
Sounds like Duda’s long lost sister the way she handles dates
He clearly thinks you’re going to be an easy drunk lay, since he’s going for a second date
This explains everything…
I can’t tell what’s fact and what’s hyperbole, and that makes me so happy I already convinced / tricked someone into marrying me.
I wish my dates would have more than 2 beers
I had a girl ask if I was serious when I ordered my 3rd drink 2 hours in on a first date. Didn’t even attempt to kiss that monster at the end of the night