True Dating Stories
After excusing myself to yank my dress higher, and mentally vowing to kill my best friend for setting us up, we were off. He showed up in his truck, which was fine with me as I love pick ups. The problem was that it was as tiny as he was. After stepping the millimeter up to his truck, I saw it ... a picture of a fairly attractive woman. The first thought that passed through my mind was oh great he has a picture of his ex on the dashboard. Seeing my look he hurried to explain that it was his sister. I don't know why this relieved me. I mean you don't hear of too many guys with pictures of their sisters on the dash but nevertheless I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
What a mistake that was! First he took me to meet his friends, the only outsider among them being a guy from Miami, the city I was currently living in. They didn't like his citified ways. I mean my goodness he actually used a fork and knife and apologized after passing gas. I could see the direction the evening was heading as clearly as the gigantic zit on the top of the pint sized head of my escort.
We went to see his family next, all of this on the first date mind you. I felt like I was under inspection by the Inquisition. "Oh, you're from Miami?"- raised eyebrows," How nice. Wait a minute, you mean you actually bought that outfit? We make our own clothes here. Spending money on store bought clothes is such a waste, don't you agree. Although what you have on is soo you, what's the name of that material? "
On and on it went. OK, so maybe miniskirts are a bit more accepted in Miami than Raleigh, North Carolina but it is the 1990s not the 1890s for heaven sakes. While I was in the midst of interrogation by the revived Confederacy, my darling escort was on the couch with his sister's fiance discussing a woman's place and apparently how I didn't know mine. When the piercing bellow of "Get me my beer, woman?" drifted sweetly to me, it was almost like music. It was the final straw to break this camel's back. Thanking his family for the iced tea- the only thing they offered me- I pleaded a migraine and pleaded to be brought home. Not one protest met that suggestion and we were off. By the time Jed Clampitt Jr. got me home at a shocking 9pm, I was ready for a Triple dose of Tylenol and my own sawed off shotgun.
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