From my vault of macabre encounters comes this tale of dating for all those on the board who are still searching for the perfect mate.
I was coming out of divorce #2...well technically it was an annulment, but my record in Flood speak was 0-1; 0 -1. I was devastated in that I thought I had found the woman of my dreams (unfortunately these dreams were nightmares). Anyway as I sallied forth back into the fray (this dialogue is being influenced by Bones' excellent background information on the premium board of Lance Larue or something like that....the new UConn wunderkind) I met a 35 year old, brunette with great makeup, nice facial features, and a great rack at a party. Our dialogue was all subtext since I knew I wanted to ask her out and she knew that I wanted to ask her out.
So I asked her out.
We agreed we'd go out for a dinner at a local café / bistro in No. Orange County- CA. One that featured a variety of fare as well as local musical talent. We also agreed that I'd meet her at the café...at 7:30. So that Saturday night I arrived to find a café bustling with patrons...the noise of the dishes being delivered, the waters collecting the empty plates...the background talk of couples who like us were trying to find out if they were going to get any...or if this meal was it.
Meanwhile we looked around the café and couldn't find a table on the first floor, so we chose a table near the railing on the second floor that had an excellent view of the stage. I asked if she wanted something to drink to start the night off. She declined. The conversation was stilted almost from the beginning but I thought perhaps we'll both up our games and who knows...stranger things have happened.
She glanced at the menu and then suggested that we start with Maryland Crab cakes as an appetizer. Being that I was from New Jersey (22 years earlier...at the time)...and she was from Baltimore, I agreed. The singer / songwriter on the stage caught my attention and I thought he was very good. When I mentioned this to her she told he she "hated music" (to this day I've only met 1 or 2 people who've said that to me ....and they were men who I didn't care to get to know). Still our conversation was fragmented...choppy : E.g. "Where do you work?" "Across the street. I'm a beautician. Would you like to see my shop"? "Yeah ..sure".
Anyway about 15 minutes passed as we read the menu over and over, probed and asked questions that got short responses: nothing to build on. Then the crab cakes were delivered to our table. I was sort of looking forward to the experience and it seemed like she perked up at the sight of the feast before us. She ate two or possibly three of the cakes at reasonably measured clip. I tried one of two and decided they were OK...good!
I asked if she wanted something from the main menu. She looked at her watch and said "No thanks". I figured the night was over ...after all it was now about 8:30. I paid the check and we stared to walk outside. When she told me that her shop was just across the street . I thought "why not"...and we started to walk across the street. In an almost reflexive move, I reached for her hand so we could cross the street together (Imperial Highway)...and to see how it felt. Almost immediately, she yanked her hand from mine...as we continued walking toward some unknown beauty shop.
I asked her if everything was ok? She told me "No".
So I asked her to explain. She starting making wheezing sounds...as if she had asthma. This was somewhat concerning but her deeper breaths meant that she was expanding her massive bosom (she was wearing a tight sweater or knit of some sort) every couple of seconds ...and this was a turn on. She told me that she was having some type of allergic reaction.
To what? All we had was crab cakes.
"To Crab Cakes"she explained. She said she didn't always get this reaction, but well
tonight she did. She told me not to take the gesture of removing her hand from mine personally,but that the allergy made my hand / the sensation it created feel like 10,000 ants were crawling on her hand and arm. I nodded ...knowing this was our last date.
Still we walked over to her shop, she showed me around, as she continued to wheeze ....and then at about 8:45 or so she said she had to go home.
I said I understood...and that I'd walk her to her car. She suggested that I follow her to her house and come in...since she might be feeling better after digesting the cakes (it had only been 1/2 hour since she ingested the stuff). Ok...this night is shot anyway ...so why not.
We drove in separate cars to her home about 10 minutes away. I couldn't understand why someone who was having an allergic reaction to food (?); someone who didn't seem to connect with me would invite me back to her house? But I was intrigued...horny / bored.
We entered into a world where no dust could survive....not a drop of dirt anywhere. Everything was arranged perfectly....all magazines (for those of you under 25, there was time when people read stories about politics, news, movie stars on paper...not electronics). She asked me to sit on her off white couch (not sure what it was made of ...sort of Pottery Barn style). I did...and she told me that she needed to take some medicine (Benadryl) because she could hear / feel her epiglottis closing.
I worked with physicians but I'm not a clinician I was an administrator. But having your epiglottis close couldn't be a good thing. I began thinking that I should leave....or call 911....or both.
She came back from some area in her house with a bottle of Benadryl , threw her head back, opened her mouth wide and CHUGGED IT like she was in a frat house and this was part of the initiation. Within a few minutes I noticed that her breathing was better (though my private show of expanding boobs was now on hiatus).
Then she got up slowly and asked if I wanted to see her house. I got up and she showed me her kitchen , bathroom / finally her bedroom. Her bed was large and made perfectly. Then she showed me her walk in closet, where every piece of clothing was on wooden hangers, all facing the same way and all meticulously arranged from red to violet. She had arranged all clothing as if it were a paint or light / analyzed by gas chromatography. I still to this day have never seen a closet like that.
We walked back out...and the effects of the Benadryl were now in full force. She yawned and said she was getting tired. So I figured she wanted me to leave. After all it was now definitely past 9 pm.
Instead she said "no you don't have to go...just be aware that I might pass out:" Right. So I sat with her on her sterile antiseptic off white couch for a few minutes...not sure what to do. Should I try to touch her hand again - but the thought of an angry army of ants marching up / down her arm didn't excite me. Should I try to kiss her....I was afraid of closing her epiglottis permanently /possibly having to explain to the police what happened to the corpse at my feet. What about going for 2nd base....but again I was deterred because although she was pretty....she was also pretty unusual (very unusual). I began to think about "Why would she order Crab Cakes ....if she was allergic to them"?
By the time I had gone through these scenarios, she had laid her head on my lap: sound asleep and snoring gently like a contented cat.
I felt strange as I picked up her head so I could get up from the couch. I got in my car and never looked back. But to this day I've never had crab cakes again...and I blame her for this loss: they weren't bad.
MO
I was coming out of divorce #2...well technically it was an annulment, but my record in Flood speak was 0-1; 0 -1. I was devastated in that I thought I had found the woman of my dreams (unfortunately these dreams were nightmares). Anyway as I sallied forth back into the fray (this dialogue is being influenced by Bones' excellent background information on the premium board of Lance Larue or something like that....the new UConn wunderkind) I met a 35 year old, brunette with great makeup, nice facial features, and a great rack at a party. Our dialogue was all subtext since I knew I wanted to ask her out and she knew that I wanted to ask her out.
So I asked her out.
We agreed we'd go out for a dinner at a local café / bistro in No. Orange County- CA. One that featured a variety of fare as well as local musical talent. We also agreed that I'd meet her at the café...at 7:30. So that Saturday night I arrived to find a café bustling with patrons...the noise of the dishes being delivered, the waters collecting the empty plates...the background talk of couples who like us were trying to find out if they were going to get any...or if this meal was it.
Meanwhile we looked around the café and couldn't find a table on the first floor, so we chose a table near the railing on the second floor that had an excellent view of the stage. I asked if she wanted something to drink to start the night off. She declined. The conversation was stilted almost from the beginning but I thought perhaps we'll both up our games and who knows...stranger things have happened.
She glanced at the menu and then suggested that we start with Maryland Crab cakes as an appetizer. Being that I was from New Jersey (22 years earlier...at the time)...and she was from Baltimore, I agreed. The singer / songwriter on the stage caught my attention and I thought he was very good. When I mentioned this to her she told he she "hated music" (to this day I've only met 1 or 2 people who've said that to me ....and they were men who I didn't care to get to know). Still our conversation was fragmented...choppy : E.g. "Where do you work?" "Across the street. I'm a beautician. Would you like to see my shop"? "Yeah ..sure".
Anyway about 15 minutes passed as we read the menu over and over, probed and asked questions that got short responses: nothing to build on. Then the crab cakes were delivered to our table. I was sort of looking forward to the experience and it seemed like she perked up at the sight of the feast before us. She ate two or possibly three of the cakes at reasonably measured clip. I tried one of two and decided they were OK...good!
I asked if she wanted something from the main menu. She looked at her watch and said "No thanks". I figured the night was over ...after all it was now about 8:30. I paid the check and we stared to walk outside. When she told me that her shop was just across the street . I thought "why not"...and we started to walk across the street. In an almost reflexive move, I reached for her hand so we could cross the street together (Imperial Highway)...and to see how it felt. Almost immediately, she yanked her hand from mine...as we continued walking toward some unknown beauty shop.
I asked her if everything was ok? She told me "No".
So I asked her to explain. She starting making wheezing sounds...as if she had asthma. This was somewhat concerning but her deeper breaths meant that she was expanding her massive bosom (she was wearing a tight sweater or knit of some sort) every couple of seconds ...and this was a turn on. She told me that she was having some type of allergic reaction.
To what? All we had was crab cakes.
"To Crab Cakes"she explained. She said she didn't always get this reaction, but well
tonight she did. She told me not to take the gesture of removing her hand from mine personally,but that the allergy made my hand / the sensation it created feel like 10,000 ants were crawling on her hand and arm. I nodded ...knowing this was our last date.
Still we walked over to her shop, she showed me around, as she continued to wheeze ....and then at about 8:45 or so she said she had to go home.
I said I understood...and that I'd walk her to her car. She suggested that I follow her to her house and come in...since she might be feeling better after digesting the cakes (it had only been 1/2 hour since she ingested the stuff). Ok...this night is shot anyway ...so why not.
We drove in separate cars to her home about 10 minutes away. I couldn't understand why someone who was having an allergic reaction to food (?); someone who didn't seem to connect with me would invite me back to her house? But I was intrigued...horny / bored.
We entered into a world where no dust could survive....not a drop of dirt anywhere. Everything was arranged perfectly....all magazines (for those of you under 25, there was time when people read stories about politics, news, movie stars on paper...not electronics). She asked me to sit on her off white couch (not sure what it was made of ...sort of Pottery Barn style). I did...and she told me that she needed to take some medicine (Benadryl) because she could hear / feel her epiglottis closing.
I worked with physicians but I'm not a clinician I was an administrator. But having your epiglottis close couldn't be a good thing. I began thinking that I should leave....or call 911....or both.
She came back from some area in her house with a bottle of Benadryl , threw her head back, opened her mouth wide and CHUGGED IT like she was in a frat house and this was part of the initiation. Within a few minutes I noticed that her breathing was better (though my private show of expanding boobs was now on hiatus).
Then she got up slowly and asked if I wanted to see her house. I got up and she showed me her kitchen , bathroom / finally her bedroom. Her bed was large and made perfectly. Then she showed me her walk in closet, where every piece of clothing was on wooden hangers, all facing the same way and all meticulously arranged from red to violet. She had arranged all clothing as if it were a paint or light / analyzed by gas chromatography. I still to this day have never seen a closet like that.
We walked back out...and the effects of the Benadryl were now in full force. She yawned and said she was getting tired. So I figured she wanted me to leave. After all it was now definitely past 9 pm.
Instead she said "no you don't have to go...just be aware that I might pass out:" Right. So I sat with her on her sterile antiseptic off white couch for a few minutes...not sure what to do. Should I try to touch her hand again - but the thought of an angry army of ants marching up / down her arm didn't excite me. Should I try to kiss her....I was afraid of closing her epiglottis permanently /possibly having to explain to the police what happened to the corpse at my feet. What about going for 2nd base....but again I was deterred because although she was pretty....she was also pretty unusual (very unusual). I began to think about "Why would she order Crab Cakes ....if she was allergic to them"?
By the time I had gone through these scenarios, she had laid her head on my lap: sound asleep and snoring gently like a contented cat.
I felt strange as I picked up her head so I could get up from the couch. I got in my car and never looked back. But to this day I've never had crab cakes again...and I blame her for this loss: they weren't bad.
MO
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