A Man and His Pussy

An anonymous friend wrote up the following synopsis of her latest dating misadventure, which I found amusing. Enjoy.

I was recently fixed up with a friend of a friend. He was described as a nice, handsome, all-around good guy. Of course I was open to meeting him. He called on a Monday to take me out that Saturday...for coffee. At 6 pm.
 “Coffee at 6 pm?” I asked myself. “Did he mean a pre-dinner drink at 6 pm? Or maybe an early dinner itself at 6 pm? Or coffee at 4 pm, maybe?” Because most people abiding by the basic North American scheduling code would at that hour not be having coffee. But I went with it. 

I showed up at the deserted café wearing a simple but sexy lil’ sundress and a smile. And there, to my happy surprise, was “Steve”: a tall, dark and very handsome guy with thick Hugh Grant-esque hair circa Four Weddings and a Funeral. Aside from the awkward venue at an awkward time, we were off to the races.

Unfortunately, after a polite greeting, 65 excruciating minutes ensued. This seemingly adorable guy managed to vomit out every ugly detail of his self-described troubled, damaged, unsuccessful and unstable existence. In short, he basically deemed himself totally unfit to date. Or even befriend. Steve managed to spew forth as many deal breakers as he possibly could, in the spirit of "being honest." I tried to veer the conversation away from “I have zero income or savings of any kind” to “seen any great movies lately?” From “I’m moving in with my mother” to “what kind of music do you like?” From “I have social anxiety disorder, ADD and possibly a mild form of Aspergers” to “have you tried that great new Thai place?” It was, in a word, hellacious.

The date wrapped up, he told me he’d love to see me again...then asked me for a ride to the subway, as he had no car. I gotta say, I felt badly for the guy. As I dropped him off at the metro, I knew full well I wouldn’t see him again.

The next day, I received a text.

“Hey! How’s your day going?” Steve wrote.

“Great thx! How’s yours?” I replied, not having the heart to ignore him.

“Good. Do you like cats?”

Random.

“Cats? Actually, I’m super allergic. More of a dog-person myself…”

A full day and night passed before I received the following:

“Hey there. I really don’t want to be an asshole as you seem like a really amazing woman. I’m just not interested in pursuing a relationship with you…something you said the other night was a real deal breaker for me”

Me: “Umm…ok….”  (did HE just brand ME with deal breaker-ness?)

Steve: “I can’t date a woman who doesn’t love cats. My cat is my life. I’m sorry. Take care”

Jaw-dropped, I reply: “Wow. Bummer. Well, I hope you and the only pussy you’ll ever have will be very happy together.”

End scene. Good night.