I don’t even need to ask the question out loud. Unfortunately, the answer is all too often…
Dating is challenging enough without worrying about all the weird things that can happen during the actual date. Add to that: being a quadragenarian, having kids, living in a smallish town and never really having any prior dating experience. I’m quite figuratively screwed.
When I was younger, my lovely, yet overtly conservative Indian parents didn’t encourage dating or understand it in the least. They had an arranged marriage in 1960’s India and just celebrated their 52nd wedding anniversary. I don’t expect them to understand dating, divorce or “playing the field”. I married the one and only guy I ever brought home for them to meet. It was assumed that they only reason I was introducing them to him was to declare that I had found the man I wanted to procreate with. My wasband handled it like a pro, learning what he could along the way and ignoring the stuff he felt was utterly ridiculous. Regardless, now that I am single, I’m having to learn new things and navigate the modern tides of dating with texting, facebooking and snapchatting.
Most women won’t want to talk about their embarrassing mishaps, or how things went terribly wrong. I, however, feel that we should openly talk about such moments so we can start to break down the walls of secrecy and learn from one another.
There was an instance when I was making out with a guy on my couch (it was a second date) with no intentions of getting naked that night. Things were going well and I was straddled on top of him and enjoying the moment. We would take occasional breaks from face-sucking and chat a little; it was nice. I said something funny, as I typically do. He started to playfully tickle me and before I knew it, the rumbling gas bubbles inside of me slipped out with a squeaky sound effect. Wide eyed and confused, we both stared at each other and didn’t say a word. So, I did what most would not do… I stated the obvious in that blundering situation. “I just farted on you!” I said with a smile. He didn’t think it was as funny as I did. I tried. What else can you say in a moment like that? Obviously, we never made out again.
And then there’s this story, which I’m positive has never happened to anyone. If it has, I would love to hear from you!
All women know that’s it’s risky to ask a guy back to your place when it’s that time of the month. For me, it just outright stupid! Having a nice time and talking over a barking puppy is one thing; having a jealous dog on a mission to end your pleasant conversation is another. “What’s that?” my date said with a very disgusted and confused look on his face as he pointed to the multicolored mound near the piano. My stumpy little guy is a young, healthy pup with bowels of steel. I knew exactly what it was. My dog had managed to get into my bathroom trash and decided to snack on a super sized Playtex. I picked up the dog-shit-encrusted bloody tampon with my bare hands (there was no time to spare by getting a paper towel) and ran to the bathroom. Sadly, it was too late. My date excused himself and I never heard from him again.
At this point, I’m fairly certain I’m gonna die alone. I just wanted you to know that I’m totally okay with that, as long as I can still laugh at myself when I do.