"I have the perfect man for you!"
My response was unexcited and concerned...
But I went anyway.
I struggled with an idea for what to wear, eventually deciding on the appropriate shirt and jeans that would hide my muffin top and prepare me for dinner and a movie.
Harmless enough, 5 hours tops and I'd be finished.
Maybe I'd even like the guy.
After all he was described as "tall and funny."
And I love tall and funny!!!
We arrived to pick him up at his place... and were greeted at the door by a monster.
"Chrissie, this is Jim."
I almost fainted.
I swore that our friendship was over before the date even began.
And I hated myself for caring how I looked when he obviously hadn't given his own appearance any thought at all.
What stood in the doorway was a giant creep.
6 feet 10 inches tall with a muffin top of his own.
It went well with his pepperoni complexion and fry-daddy hairline.
What it didn't go well with however, was me.
I wanted to cry... and not in that "I'm a prissy brat and he's not good enough for me," kind of way.
It was more of a "I'm scared and I want my father" kind of way.
But in the spirit of friendship and open-mindedness... I hid my repulsion and agreed on a quick game of pool (in his parent's basement) before dinner.
That was when Jim went from a "possibly hideous looking nice guy" to a "hideous looking soon-to-be-sex-offender."
He couldn't keep his huge hands off of me as we played the game and I decided I'd had enough, long before the 8 ball was sunk.
"I told you he was tall" she said.
"Yeah," I agreed, "but you forgot to mention that whole "like a monster" thing."
I was stuck.
I ordered a salad, picked at it in an overly theatrical way and decided that if I couldn't escape, I'd play the brat card.
Yes, Chrissie, make the monster hate you.
So I complained about my salad, insisted I pay for it myself, and went out to the car long before anyone else had to wait for the date's finale: A movie.
I bought my own soda and popcorn, I even paid for my own ticket.
And then he had enough nerve to ask for a sip of my root beer.
After he sucked the straw, I said, "You can have that now" and prayed for the next 90 minutes to end as quickly as possible.
I made it out alive and spent the ride home, crying to my friend about how insensitive she'd been.
Not only had she made me feel like a monster myself if HE was in my league, but she made me feel awful for being so judgmental.
Maybe he was a nice guy under that big, sloppy exterior.
Maybe I had been too harsh.
A few days later, I'd asked if her boyfriend had mentioned anything about the DOUBLE DATE and his only response was this.
"Jim said Chrissie was giving him mixed signals all night long. She was being mean, but then she was rubbing her leg against his during the movie."
The fact that his HUGE legs didn't FIT in the movie theater seats could have been the problem... but any "guilt" I'd momentarily suffered dissipated when the boyfriend finished his observation by saying...
"Yeah, he was disappointed too... he'd brought two condoms just in case."