There’s a little magic in dating the boys you’d never consider. I’m not sure why that is, it just IS. I lose that nervous chaos that threatens to drown me when I’m not excited to go on a date. I’m able to just be myself and experience it for what it is….

Torture.

Internet dating is the definition of hell. It’s a sea of blind dates, not even selected by loving friends with your best intentions in mind. Oh no… these random weirdos that flood by inbox are all just inspired by a few words and a couple pictures of yours truly. My profile states two absolute things that I cannot negotiate anymore.

You have to hate Donald Trump and love tomatoes if you ever want to see me naked.

Period. Everything else is negotiable.

If I were going to be completely honest though, I definitely have a type. I’m not height specific… because at 5’4″ I can comfortably wear heels with even the shortest of men, the one bonus of having short legs myself. No offense to the scrawny guys of the world but the only lean thing I enjoy is my diet, and even that’s a stretch. Gym rats are douchebags, full stop. I want a man who can appreciate my cooking as much as he does me. I’m not eye color or hair color specific either, I just crave a real man. One who can teach me something and stand up to me. It’s more holy grail than garden variety, which is why I’ve been single for most of my adult life. I’m content creating my own entertainment, paying my own way and taking responsibility for my own happiness.

I’m really good at being happy alone.

I’m also really great at being the perfect girlfriend… something I don’t always appreciate about myself. I tend to get lost in being happy and its been really nice finding pleasure in my own company and taking care of myself instead of the object of my desire. I started dating in the 7th grade and didn’t stop until I turned 37. Thirty years of constant attention and I was over it all. 6 years later, I’ve realized how much peace there is in NOT being part of a couple. I want to be a blessing, not a facilitator and I need to be considered in return. Until I get comfortable asking for that, I’m out of the pool.

But I’m going to date the ABSOLUTELY NOT’S in the meantime, so that I can laugh a little and write a lot.

Mr. Spoiled is a Californian lawyer. He flies in every weekend to spend his off time at his family “cabin” on the lake where I live. I’ve seen pictures. This is NOT a cabin.

My grandmother used to say ” You can love a rich man just as easily as you can love a poor man”… but I don’t find that to be true. I don’t like rich boys, at all. Ever. I find a display of wealth, nauseating. So when I got his email, I agreed and he insisted on taking me to a “cozy little Italian place he found that he knew I’d love.”

Y’all. I live in a small town. There aren’t many new restaurants and if there are, none of them are a secret from anyone. With that same small town in mind, I don’t love city folk that flock here and junk up my life every weekend.

This man is realllllly not my type but it is my favorite Italian restaurant and I’ve got a mean case of writer’s block.

So I agreed to meet him for dinner on Saturday night and went on about my life. Not stressing the impending date because he was weird and I wasn’t attracted to him at all. He started texting me picture of him flying his plane, out for expensive meals, on big boats… etc. I get that it’s a thing for some girls but for me, it’s somewhat insulting.

I don’t have a price tag and all the money in the world can’t buy your way in to any part of me or my life. Period. Hearing a man talk about his wealth, makes me dry and annoyed.

I intentionally arrived late after a dozen whiny text messages from him about the full parking lot. Whiners wait… it’s a rule of mine that I enjoy inflicting.

He was visibly perturbed when I got to the table and met my gaze with a long look at my chest.

Charming. Also just as I expected.

J- William, nice to meet you.

I held my hand out and he half-heartedly shook mine with a limp grip. Oy vey… I didn’t expect it to be that bad.

W- I brought a bottle from my cellar. I figured we should celebrate the night we started to live happily ever after.

(eyeroll) I know some people would be loving every minute of this, but I’m struggling to keep the oyster mushroom risotto I made for lunch, down.

81877-ROEDERER-CRISTAL-07-750ML-w-200x415.png

Bubbles do delight me, though… and one sip told me I was drinking farrrrrr outside my price range. Mmmmm…. I wished my best girl were there to share a glass with because I already knew this would not be resulting in a second date.

Our server arrived and smiled pleasantly, when my atrocious date began ordering an imaginary item from the nonexistent menu. I must have looked as horrified as I felt, because he glared and half-snapped at me.

W- What. They have all those things.

J- It’s called a menu because that’s what they make. Can we please have a few minutes to decide?

The server hurried away and he glared at me again.

J- Yeah, no. You need to read that menu and find something you like. My friends work here, shame on you. If you want to design your own dinner, cook it your damn self. They print menus for a reason and pains in the ass like you drive everyone stark raving mad every summer.

Ooops. I can see by the look on his face that he’s not thrilled. Fun. We haven’t even gotten drinks yet.

I ordered a salad and he ordered the same while complaining that they didn’t have deep dish pizza and asking for a comment card. The server smiled apologetically at me and we sunk into the big wait to eat and run. Our salads came out in seconds and that same server winked as she walked away. We both practically inhaled our dinners and were out the door in under an hour. He smiled provocatively at me on our way out the door.

W- My place or yours?

J- Both. I’ll see you later, thanks for dinner!

W- Dessert?

J- Not tonight.

I was home in time to read to the Dumpling and watch a few episodes of The Handmaid’s Tale.

Just what the doctor ordered after an awful date with an entitled brat. ♥

3 thoughts on “Mr. Spoiled

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