I’ll write my first post of this year, reminding myself of the trials and tribulations of dating. Yippie…
Rollback the year to 2008. America is on the cusp of electing our first black President, Katy Perry is kissing a girl, Heath Ledger does a remarkable Joker impersonation and Kipp goes on a date with a girl ten years younger.
Ironically I met this girl on Facebook, where I typically fend off would be followers. Daycee, a 20 year old single mother with a pretty profile picture, is the harbinger of intolerance. More about that later. She suggests a time and place to meet and I easily comply, being the intelligent gentlemen I is.
Consequentially, the night we begin our fling is the night college kids flood the Dave and Busters bar, redeeming the popular $2 domestic drafts. Fucking Wednesdays.
Daycee fit right in. This is the later. She contributed to the gossip in the air. Swore after every bite of her Americanized pasta dish. Every ounce of class she carried was wasted on her application of cheap mascara. The only thing she had going for her was her looks.
I didn’t mind that our table was close to the kitchen door. I didn’t mind the constant clanging of dishes the busboys wheeled in and out. In a way it subdued Daycees insufferable voice. I did mind that I kept losing the topic of conversation to Daycee whining about her unhappiness with her babies daddy. Fucking Wednesdays.
I should have known or at least anticipated a somewhat mediocre event with a younger broad. Infact, I experience it every time I order a Quarterpounder with Cheese meal. Facebook profiles should come with a disclaimer because when I do get my burger, they never quite look like the picture advertised.
This post was inspired by an article on Seansmithson.com.