Last week I went to see my friend in a one woman show titled "Bad Dates". She was fabulous. Must get my hands on that script for monologue material.
Inserted in the program was a blank sheet inviting audience members to share their bad dates and there was a drawing at intermission for the "winner" of this backwards contest.
Guess who clinched it?
Here's my entry. True story.
As an impossibly naive and utterly inexperienced college senior, I took a chance and gave my number to a cute guy at the bank. (1) After a couple of awkward phone conversations, I agreed to meet him for a late meal at Denny's. (2) We did not click. I never saw him again but maintained my pride at having gone out on a limb (3) UNTIL...
A few months later my father (3a) saved a newspaper clipping with the note "is this the guy you went out with?" attached to a report about a man who had just been sentenced to prison for rape.
It was he.
I've never given my number to a man since.
(1) I had never done anything even remotely as forward as this, but if you heard the whole story, you'd understand why it was kind of cute and totally understandable why I'd do such a thing. Really.
(2) I was living a very late night lifestyle, being in the theater, so meeting late at Denny's was not odd. And all of my roommates knew exactly where I was. I swear.
(3) I seriously think I told everyone I knew (even my father - 3a) that I had given my number to someone. It felt like a pivotal moment for me in a way. So pathetic.
So there you have it. I won a bottle of wine. I wanna hear YOUR bad date story. Yes, you.
Go on. It can't be worse than mine, can it? If it is, I'll mail you the bottle of wine. Seriously.