I’m Not Who You Think I Am But You Aren’t Who I Wanted You To Be

I let myself get fixed up with him based on rave reviews. A friend of mine, who I completely trusted, couldn’t think of enough adjectives to describe his awesomeness. So therefore, he must be THAT awesome. Cute, funny, smart, successful, cool, interesting…

Cool, I thought. Finally, after a bunch of charcoal, a diamond. Maybe. Hopefully. Could it be?

I allowed her to give him my phone number and, within minutes, he called me.

He was kind of lame on the phone. It was awkward. But, not all people are phone conversationalists like myself, I thought. We chatted for a few minutes and then made arrangements to meet at Champs for dinner on March 29th. I remember the date because it was my 31st birthday. Wow, 10 years ago.

Dinner was fun but that’s because I had a nice buzz going. All he wanted to talk about was sex. Which, I knew I would NEVER have with him. EVER. Due to my status as being slightly tipsy, I could answer his provocative questions with allusive yet somewhat provocative answers and not be embarrassed. Chances were, I had been leading him on with a false idea of what I am about but, I didn’t really care. He wasn’t my type. I wasn’t out to impress or undress him.

Yet somehow, when this date was over, we made plans to go out again. We did. And it was lame.

I kept thinking that it had to get better. He was supposed to be the greatest catch in so many ways. He couldn’t possibly be this annoyingly boring and so completely obsessed with talking about sex.

So, I decided, one last time. My bad.

We met for dinner at one of my favorite restaurants which has since gone out of business, as do all my favorite restaurants.

After dinner, he told me he had a surprise for me. But I would have to drive with him. Against my better judgment, after the bill was paid, I allowed myself to be led to his car.

He drove. I chatted. Nervously. He wouldn’t, no matter how many times I pestered, let on to where he was taking me. And I couldn’t even fathom a guess.

The area we approached was unfamiliar at first. Then I recognized it. I had been there once or twice before.

A strip club.

Yep. The ass thought he was giving me a pleasant surprise by taking me to a place where women wander around naked.

We went in and were seated by the stage.

It’s incredible how much attention a woman gets at a place like this. I was propositioned a couple of times by some of the dancers, in front of my date. One of the girls, a 21 year old, let me know what nights she got off early because, she said, “if you ever want to experiment, you know where I am.”

This reinforced my heterosexual status. I had no inclination to hook up with someone with a vagina or big, fake boobs(or natural, for that matter). Ever. Thank you. Very much.

We finally left. I said goodbye to all my new friends, who entertained me far more than my date.

We drove in tense silence back to my car, which was still parked at the restaurant we had dinner at.

When we finally got there, he spoke. He told me, in a whiny, disappointed and disgusted voice, that I destroyed his fantasies.

Then, he leaned over and kissed my cheek. I sucked in my breath.

I got out of the car, told him goodbye…which I meant in more ways than him just driving off. I was confident in the fact that I would never hear from him again. And honestly, I was relieved by that knowledge.

I may have destroyed his sick fantasy that night, and I was completely at ease with that. But he destroyed my fantasy too. My fantasy that he was going to live up to what all the positive press was about.

A few months later, I ran into his brother, a guy I had gone to high school with. I mentioned that I had gone out with his older brother.

He told me that I should have consulted with him first. He wouldn’t have let me get into the same car with him.

It amazed me what kind of facade that we can put on, a mardi gras mask, letting people think we are something that we completely aren’t even remotely close to. Like the buzzed chick he went on that first date with, he built a fantasy around her. Where I built up a fantasy based on how my friend viewed this guy and I kept hoping the reality him would improve.

It wouldn’t. I wouldn’t. We wouldn’t.

It was a case of mistaken identity. The one where fantasy was much better than reality.

And that. Was OK.

Comments

comments