60 MPH

Here is the second part of my short lived “relationship” with  the French Kisser. Second date, he wanted to take me to the movies. We’d already had the marathon date several days before, so I figured a movie was okay, we’d already started getting to know each other. Please remember, this was to be dinner and a movie, according to him on our first date and subsequent texts.

He had the day off, I was working from home, so he was going to pick me up and we would go from there. He seemed like he wouldn’t murder me, so knowing where I lived didn’t seem like a high risk. Plus he was skinny so I could take him if I needed to. We were texting all day, as we had been everyday. He was at his parents house, using their pool. This is where he dropped the bomb, 2 hours before picking me up.

Dinner and a movie had now turned into just a movie, because homeboy decided he was going to eat dinner at home. I had planned my day around this dinner and a movie date. And grandpa over there wanted to catch an earlier movie. So, I’m left with 2 options, not eat dinner because I wouldn’t have time, or eat at the snack bar. I was pissed, and he could tell, but didn’t understand why. If you can’t afford dinner, don’t mention several different times it’s a dinner and a movie date.

It was also at this point where I said I didn’t want to see his choice of a movie, which was something called Sinister 2. This is where my friend thinks the serial killer vibe comes into play. I said that I hadn’t seen Sinister 1, so I would be lost in the plot. Also, it was a lame movie that no one had heard of. He insisted. I also said that I wanted to see a movie in the Lux theater. I believe this is why he was so adamant on Sinister 2, it was in the regular theater, aka, cheaper. I should have known and just called this thing off, but I had made a point of trying to date nice guys instead of jack asses. I would regret that decision…

He picks me up, I’m looking good, and he tells me so. We have to get on the highway to get to where we’re going, which, remember, is just a movie and no dinner. He starts driving. He’s driving slower than my grandfather who was legally blind (RIP Grampa).I understand he had precious cargo in the car. I look over, the speedometer says 60 MPH. I call him out on this, because, seriously? We’re in the slow lane, and I’m pretty sure a turtle passed us. I kept mentioning his slow driving. I don’t think he appreciated that, but at this point, I was pissed. No dinner, lame movie, and now you’re driving below the speed limit. I wanted to date a nice guy, not a cheap Grampa who gets excited about early bird specials.

This story gets even better. Or worse, depending on who you are. Better for story telling, worse for my sanity. Stay tuned for part 3…

 

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3 Comments

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  1. Great story I’m looking forward to part 3

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