Ancient history and blind dates

9 Aug

Remember way back when you were very, very young…and your sister/cousin/best friend was dating some guy from out of town…who always had a college roommate/buddy that was coming for a visit and needed a date so that your sister/cousin/best friend could go to event x with boyfriend?

I was thinking of one of those arm-twisting blind dates today.

In my case, it took a lot of blackmail and arm twisting to get me to agree.  I didn’t want to go to event x in this case, which was a softball tournament.  Men’s softball tournaments were about as interesting as watching paint dry in my opinion.  I have no idea why my sister wanted to go to it either.  That tidbit is lost in time, I guess.

I’d finally agreed, and the date was set in stone, and my dread grew faster than the grass on the softball field.  All too soon, the day arrived, a beautiful Saturday with a clear sky and plenty of sun.

My sister’s boyfriend was not a total loser, so I didn’t think that his old college room mate could be that bad.

I knew I was in for it when they arrived.  Boyfriend walks in, and right behind him is the Blind Date.  I was looking for excuses to bail, and my sister gave me the evil eye.  I sighed, I was stuck.

His name was Red, and he came by it honestly enough.  Flaming red hair and plenty of freckles.  That part wasn’t a deal breaker though.  The deal breaker was the shirt.

Once upon a time, it had been a red sweatshirt.  Now, it was a filthy shell with the sleeves cut off.  I caught a whiff of Red and realized I’d not be able to lose him in the crowd either.  He must have walked all the way from Peru…without a shower.

This was going to be a very long day.

My sister’s elbow jabbed me in the ribs.  I stuck a smile on my face and knew that nothing was as fake as that smile was.  I had to ride in the back seat of Boyfriend’s car with this guy.  I slouched down, hoping no one saw me.  Forever optimistic, I told myself he must be brilliant or something to make up for his personal hygiene, and I encouraged him to talk.

We covered three topics in the thirty minute ride to the tournament.  Great parties of the past, great parties of the present, and great parties of the future.  It was getting worse with each minute.

At the tournament, it was too hot to try and stay in the car and out of sight.  I was forced to sit on the bleachers with Mr. Red-the-blind-date.  Already tanned as a result of hours in the Jeep four wheeling, I continued tanning in the blazing sun.  Poor Mr. Red wasn’t fairing so well.

After the tournament, I discovered something new about even more aromatic Mr. Red the Blind Date.  The three topics of conversatoin that we had already gone over turned out to be the only three topics he had.

The day lasted an eternity, it seemed, as I was stuck with this guy, and I was glad when it finally came to an end.  I’d learned a lot.

  1. I didn’t like talking about parties.
  2. I would never do another blind date.
  3. I would never go to another softball tournament.
  4. Never go on a blind date with a guy called Red.

Blind dates, sisterly love…you gotta love ’em.

To give my sister credit, she did feed me liberal amounts of sympathy afterwards.  She knew how awful it was, and probably knew she was going to pay for my misery.

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