Thursday, February 4, 2010
Bill
Stephanie's Group is blogging about Valentine's Gifts for Him today. Since I don't have a Him and plan to resume my usual habit of forgetting it's even Valentine's Day in the first place, I'm going to abstain and tell you a story instead.
Remember that time when I wrote some Dating Confessions and mentioned this guy named Bill?
(Yes. It was yesterday.)
There's more to the story.
I lived in a house with a gaggle of roommates in Ogden when Bill moved into a place around the corner. We attended the same 18-30-year-old Student Ward, despite the fact that Bill was over the age limit by a good four or five years.
Bill lived with Chad, my Home Teacher. Chad are I were sort of friends. I use the term loosely because we sometimes hung out in the same group and I once helped him talk through a painful break up and whatnot, but we weren't particularly close. But he got it into his head that he should do something nice for me and for his roommate.
(I use the term "nice" loosely, too.)
For weeks and weeks, Chad continually sang Bill's praises.
- "You're into Family History? You should really talk to Bill. He's, like, a guru."
- "You and Bill are both so into politics, I know you'd have TONS to talk about."
- "What do you think of Bill? You should go out with him because I'm sure you'd really hit it off."
Remember when I said Chad and I were sort of friends? Yeah, well, that was before I figured out that he apparently hated me.
Despite Chad's insistences that Bill and I had a lot in common, I was not interested. I felt creeped out anytime he was near, felt zero attraction to the man, and really didn't want to be alone with him.
(The guy was very large and sometimes used oxygen and walked with a cane. I could have totally outrun him, but who wants to go all that hassle on a date?)
Well, Bill finally (figuratively) pinned me down and got me to agree to ONE date. It was the very definition of a pity date.
Desperate to avoid a solo outing, I called up a friend and suggested doubling. She had an even better idea. Game Night at her house. We wouldn't even have to be seen in public. Perfect. I talked my roommate and her fiancé into joining us, too, in a further attempt to avoid the awkwardness that was certain to unfold.
The appointed day arrived and Bill pulled up, ready to go. I only had a two-seat pickup truck. My roommate, Emily, only had a tiny sports car that Bill could not comfortably have squeezed into. Her fiancé, Tony, also had a truck and with room for three, but not four. That left only Bill's car. A large, beastly pimp mobile littered with empty bottles and cans, and full of boxes as if the date had interrupted him in the process of moving.
Charming.
A few minutes later, we made it to Deborah and Christian's house, gasping for clean air as we fell out of the car.
Deborah had a No Shoe Rule in her house, and we complied, leaving a pile of shoes near the door. The bottoms of Bill's socks were black. And the tops weren't much better. To avoid gagging, I forced myself not to contemplate the last time Bill had bothered using a washing machine and instead spent the next three hours avoiding the hand that came perilously close to grasping mine.
We played games and I had fun with my friends. I have no idea if Bill had fun or not. He seemed to, but I was more keenly aware that he kept looking for ways to inch nearer to me and I thwarted his attempt to place a grubby hand on my knee.
When he dropped us off at the end of the evening, I gave him no chance to ask for a second date. I tossed him a quick, "Thanks!" before jumping out of the car and running for the front door. He never called me again, either. But then, that might have something to do with the fact that I avoided every possible chance of conversation until he finally moved away.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
14 comments:
"You know what they say. If you don't have anything nice to say about anybody, come sit by me."
~Clairee Belcher, Steel Magnolias