Sunday, November 25, 2012

This is your date on Percocet

I had a date recently; a friend set me up. I wasn't enthused, because he seemed weird in the first phone call, on a Sunday afternoon.

"I'm walking up Columbus in the 80s," he said. "Where do you live?"

As it happens, near Columbus in the 80s. Which I told him.

"How would you like to go for a walk right now?" he asked.

When at home I'm almost always mostly undressed. I'm not spontaneous on my best days, so the suggestion was unwelcome. I wasn't in the mood to get dressed and go out, and certainly not with a guy who looked pretty hideous in his LinkedIn profile photo (the friend who set us up suggested I Google him). Also, the Rules state that you're not supposed to be immediately available all the time; men should get used to asking in advance to spend time with you, since if your time is limited they will perceive it as more valuable. Or something like that.

"I can't, really," I said. "I'm recovering from a pretty serious knee injury, so I can't really go for long walks right now. I also have some things I need to do later." We continued speaking; I think he found a bench and sat down. He seemed to ask a lot of questions. I suppose if I'd been attracted to his picture I would have been flattered, but the barrage struck me as somewhat intrusive.

"Tell me," he said, "what is the most important insight you have gained from your own individual therapy?"

Excuse me? In the dictionary under "inappropriate" that question is listed verbatim. "That's not something I feel comfortable talking about with you just yet," I said.

"I was going to tell you what mine was," he said, sounding disappointed.

Tempted though I was to call off the date, I got dressed three days later. I didn't bother wearing red, or curling my eyelashes, or going to the usual trouble I take with my appearance. I just wanted the date to be over. My knees were a little sore, so I took a Percocet as a precaution; I didn't want to be in pain and cranky on the date.

That was a mistake. First of all, he was more attractive than his picture. Second, he was very manly in the way he vetoed my suggestion that we walk 10 blocks to the restaurant and hailed a cab. So already I was starting to like him a little. But something went wrong.

The awful thing is, I have no idea what I did or said that turned him off me so much. He asked me if I wanted a glass of wine; I declined, citing the Percocet.

"How does it affect you when you take it?" he asked.

"It doesn't," I said blithely. He must have thought I lied, because the conversation -- from what I can remember -- gradually degenerated into rambling Ayelet monologues about politics, synagogues in Riverdale, and I'm not sure what else. He probably thought he was on a date with Blanche DuBois. A horribly offensive Blanche DuBois who has absolutely zero insight or self-control, and who won't answer a normal person's questions like a normal person would.

Of course, I'm not a normal person. But my disability wasn't the cause of this debacle. I actually wished I could have had a second chance to go on the date sober. It's funny -- as soon as I couldn't have him, I wanted him. Human nature, I suppose.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

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