The Fishy Rose

I’m pretty open-minded. Ok, FAIRLY open-minded. In the dating world, I abhor dating profile pictures of men with no shirts, wearing white wife beaters (really?) and the notorious fish pic. Why is it that men feel a compulsion to take pics of themselves with fish – large or small, even – wearing camo outfits, grinning ear to ear?

A few years ago I went against the grain of everything I hold true in dating. I went on a date with a guy with a fish pic. It just so happened that it was on a weekend where I had attended my college homecoming. As you might imagine, I was hungover like a freshman after their first keg party and he wanted to meet on a Sunday afternoon – just as I made the trip home with the window half open in case the need to hurl overcame me.

When I got home, he called and asked if I wanted to go work out before we met for dinner. Ok, is he serious? Who invites a woman on a first date to go to the gym? And moreover, did he not understand the meaning of “hungover?” I decline of course and we make a plan to meet later at a local restaurant.

Here’s the thing about me and dating. I always wear something nice. Not a ball gown, but dark jeans (not “mom jeans”), a nice top and heels. I “show up,” if you will. My hope is that my date doesn’t show up in the male version of “mom jeans,” white sneakers and a black trench coat long enough to conceal a shotgun. I did have a date with a man wearing the aforementioned garb, but that’s another story.

I park and start walking towards the restaurant. As I’m walking, I see this goober of a guy with a hat on driving by me. All I could think is, “OMG, please do not let this be the guy.”

Well, it WAS him and as he got out of his car, I see he is wearing gym shorts, white socks up to his knees and one of those tank tops with the sides cut out. This might have been attractive on say, Brad Pitt, but he wasn’t him. Not even close. To top off this FANTASTIC first date outfit, he was holding a single red rose.

If my mom had been alive to see this, she would have muttered, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Me, I had some serious choice words that I’ll leave out and just say that I spoke them to myself in the confines of my own mind.

I thought, “Shit. He’s already seen me so I can’t fake having the plague to get out of this.”

“Hi,” he says. No less out of breath from working so hard on his one-pack.

I said,”Hi. Did you just come from the gym?” He says yes and I ask, “Did you shower?”

He says, “Yes. You wouldn’t want to be seen with me if I didn’t!”

Dude, I don’t want to be seen with you NOW let alone what you looked like thirty minutes ago. Of course, I say this in my inside-talking-to-myself voice.

We get inside and find a table. I was trying to think of the quickest thing to eat in order to make a timely escape, with rose in hand of course. I ordered a salad and he ordered ribs. RIBS!

I had to sit across the table from a man who had barbecue sauce all over his face, talking to me while he had a masticated cow hanging out of his pie hole. On top of that, he was constantly flicking his tongue all over his mouth while he spoke as if he had a bad case of tardive dyskinesia. Who knows how many neuroleptic drugs he was taking. I wasn’t about to ask.

He had a question though after he cleaned the barbecue sauce from his face with his tongue. “Can I kiss you?”

I said “No!” with such force that a neighboring table looked over to check on my safety. Finally, the waitress came over to bail me out of hell. He paid the bill, I thanked him and I ran out to my car with such speed and agility that no one would have ever guessed I was hungover from four martinis.

Needless to say, I have never again had a date with a man who has a fish pic in his profile.

When it seems fishy, it usually is.

Next!