A few weeks ago, I recounted a blind date from hell. Now I will share one that even the devil wouldn’t want.
Franco The Fascist
Franco was an Italian Fascist. I’m not at all sure what his job was, or how it was that he came to be in my company or that of my on-again-off-again “boyfriend”, but there he was one evening at Espresso Royale waiting for us to arrive.
At that time, I’m guessing Franco was easily 50 years old. He wasn’t like Fabio on Top Chef. In fact, I can’t imagine who I can compare him to. He was aging, greasy, strange, and amorous. His first pick-up line (to the non-smoking me) was that he wished to be a cigarette between my lips. Did your skin just crawl? ‘Cause mine did and it’s been 20+ years. I pointed out that, like a cigarette, he would NEVER be between my lips and, were there to be such an unfortunate encounter, I would merely grind him beneath my boot toe. Yes, folks, that excited him (more shuddering on my part).
I think in his mind, we were flirting. In my mind I was trying to be as mean as possible without being socially offensive. Apparently you can’t really offend someone like that. He then proceeded, with gusto, to tell me of his “encounters” with women. He relished sharing how important it was to bring with you (not you, but him) a sizable cucumber or zucchini. (more shuddering). Yes, at that crucial moment, his goal was to “Shova the cucumbre uppa the woman’s ass for the pleasure.” Whose pleasure I cannot say. I just can’t see how that got him dates in the past.
Needless to say, it was a long, painful evening and one which Igor enjoyed immensely. I’m sure, to a great extent, because we didn’t tell anyone we were or had been intimate at any time. Hence, he enjoyed Franco’s attempts at wooing me, as well as my desire to be as far away as humanly possible. Because Igor is a bit of a sick f*cker, he gave Franco my phone number.
Before caller ID, before using answer phones to screen calls, before I had enough sense to just tell someone to sod off and leave me alone. After weeks of my insisting that I had ZERO interest and would NEVER like to date him, Igor asked me to allow Franco to take me out. I can’t quite recall why, but I’m guessing Franco was a scientist and this was gumming the works in the physics department. Either that or I was just amusing Igor.
So I acquiesced.
Flash forward to my meeting Franco at a Greek restaurant where I actually KNEW the people — wait staff, bar tender, and cooks. His first order of business was to insult Greeks, Greek food, and the place itself. I could FEEL the hatred from the staff. Franco then proceeded to work between insulting political stereotypes, misogyny, and promising what he would do to me when he got me home. He was so not ever going to go into my home (they say you should never invite a vampire in). After a long evening that never seemed to end (the date started at 7 and ended at 11:30), I pardoned myself. I refused a drink, dessert, a kiss, and his offer to escort me.
I heard later how insulted he was that he spent money on me only to have me spurn him. I expected him to call me out on my size, but instead he decided that I was a typical “frigid feminist.”
This, my dears, is why I will never, again, in my life, date. I’m obviously quite bad at it.