So we didn't have tea. The second date and I, but at least this time I could order a Screaming Multiple Orgasm without having to go to confession afterwards.
The date wore a suit to our, well, date. Now I only know two kinds of men who wear suits to work: creepy funeral parlour people and male prostitutes.
Of course he was neither. My mother organised him for me after all and I doubt she would let a technical detail like what the candidate does for a living slip by her prude and conservative radar. If my mother's radar could be compared to anything, let's just say the Titanic would never have sunk on her sharp watch.
The date was an attorney. He was, unfortunately, not any kind of attorney. He was a divorce attorney. I had to smile at the irony of this whole situation.
Every time he said 'marriage' I felt obligated to boo! like the crowd at the MTV awards with the mere mention of ol' Kanye's name.
He's 30, never been married (BIG surprise) and wants someone he could grow old with. That is just code for fix-the-holes-in-my-socks-and-while-you're-up-pass-me-the-remote-because-the-game-is-starting-soon.
I might have paid more attention to his sincere attempts at making a real connection if I didn't have hiccups. As in THE hiccups. I had been running around all day and breakfast came and gone like Elizabeth Taylor's first marriage. So did lunch. When I don't eat all day, something happens with my insides and I start getting these crazy hiccups. Let's just say it wasn't the ideal way to start a date.
You try having a serious conversation about your work, life and where you see yourself in ten years (the normal dating material) while the woman sitting across from you croaks every nine seconds like there's a frog in her body the size of King Kong judging by the sound of the hiccup. It went something like this:
Eli Stone (that's the only decent, nice attorney I know):
"I've met many women in my line of work. Bitter, hard, sometimes insane women, but none like yo -"
(whilst smiling sweetly and concentrating on not spitting out her drink. Too much humiliation can't be good for the brain.)
Eli Stone: (a little frown appears, but still smiling as though he's a first grade teacher looking at a freaky kid with six pony tails on her head and a missing tooth)
Ladytruth: (trying to save the situation and her dignity)
"You know, I've never met a divorce attorney before. I bet you've never be screwed CROAK!!!"
Eli Stone (the little frown is upgraded to big brother Frown like the principal looking irritated with the girl who punched a boy for bullying her friend because he has nerdy glasses and freckles)
"Are you sure you're alright? Shouldn't I scare you or something to make them stop?"
Not even IT could scare the hiccups away at that stage. Not even the thought of me spanking his funky monkey could make the hiccups go away. I'd probably have a huge croak and end up phoning his parents from the emergency room thanks to a 'freaky accident'. Damn hiccups.
Needless to say, we didn't have dessert.
On our way home, Chris just smiled when I complained about the disaster that was the date.
"That bad, huh?" he asked and I could only nod with utter and great disappointment. Eli Stone had a really cute bum.
Then again, he is a divorce attorney and if we were to get married he might just go all crazy on me one day with:
"Go to the kitchen and cook me some supper, woman, or I'll sue you and take half of your closet AND the dogs,"
and then I might just have to kill him to get rid of those silly demands.
I guess all that's left to say is: