I Went On A Date with A Coke-Head Fart Blamer
If i told you about my latest misfortune and adventure in online dating, you probably would not believe me. In fact, you would probably accuse me of making it up. i actually couldn't believe the circumstances i found myself in this past Saturday while on a date with J, a cute boy who contacted me via an online dating site.
J lives in Edinburgh, so he took the train in on Saturday afternoon to meet me for a drink. It seemed promising: he was employed, the same age as me, from a small town in the Highlands, and funny. We had already talked on the phone previously and i concluded that he was (a) nice and (b) not a freak.
Was i wrong.
The date started off great; the banter was nice and he name-dropped some interesting writers. There was just one thing though: he seemed to have a lot of nervous energy. i thought maybe he was just nervous and that's why he was talking so quickly. Also, he would ask me a question - the same question i had just answered 45 minutes ago. You know, if there is one thing i fucking hate, it is people who ask questions and don't listen to the answer. It drives me nuts and being a barbaric North American, i find it hard to conceal my emotions and annoyance. So, when J asked me, for the second time, if i had ever been to Fort William i replied, "for the second time now, yes, i have been there".
i can be a bitch. But only if you deserve it.
We walked to the pub and things were ok; we had overcome the bitchy awkward moment and were moving on. J still seemed to have a lot of nervous energy and was a bit preoccupied with the sports channel that was on the tv in the corner. We continued to talk over a couple of drinks and things seemed ok. Just as i was lifting my glass of wine to my lips J asked me, "what are you like in bed?" i tried not to choke on my drink and calmly set my glass back down.
"Too bad you will never find out," i said.
Now why i didn't leave right there, i can't really say. Perhaps it was because things got really interesting at this point.
J's nervous energy only seemed to get worse and i have to say, i guess i felt a bit sorry for him. Maybe he was just a bit socially inept (like myself at times) and can say the wrong thing without realising it. i gave him the benefit of the doubt and started talking about the interesting cultural differences and run-ins i had found myself in since moving to the UK. i began telling him an anecdote about going for a wax and the beautician being a lot more intensive then what i was used to back in Canada. i thought my story was hilarious and shaking in a rapture of mirth at my own story. i guess J didn't think it was that funny and said, "can you keep your laugh down a bit".
And that's when my psycho bitch came out because NO ONE - apart from my Mom and Step-Dad - tell me to "keep it down".
Stunned, i sat there for a minute. J turned to check out the sports scores on tv and said, "fuck!"
"What's wrong?" i asked, not really caring.
"i bet on a game and i lost," he replied.
i didn't want to pass judgement on him but really, most people who bet on football games are trashy. With the revelation that he had lost his bet, J's nervous energy went into overdrive. He began scratching his nose, sniffing, and blinking really quickly. Now that my psycho bitch had come out i asked him if he needed to go to the washroom to snort a line. J didn't seem phased by my bitch remark and merely just said that he was "ok". i was suspicious and asked him if he did coke to which he replied, "yeah, but i've only done it a couple times; maybe ten or fifteen".
Ok, people who bet on sports and think that 10 or 15 run-ins with coke is only a "couple of times", are trash. So, i decided that that was it; i was leaving.
J's nervous coke-withdraw symptoms must have made its way down to his stomach because just then, he let an audible fart rip loose. Being a lady and thinking that this dude had enough shitty things against him already, i decided to try and ignore it.
But then it started smelling. Bad.
J turned to me and in all seriousness asked me, "did you just fart?"
Now. It is one thing to accidentally fart on a date, it is another thing entirely to then try and BLAME it on your DATE.
"i most certainly did not!" i yelled in disbelief because really, who fucking farts and blames it on someone you just met when CLEARLY you both just heard him do it?!
And then a second wave of J's coke-withdraw farts hit me. And AGAIN he asked me, "did you fart again?"
That was it. Psycho Bitch took over and the remainder of Jennifer went black. And here's what Psycho Bitch said, almost word for word:
"That's it! i can't believe you have the audacity to act all proper and superior when i tell you about my funny waxing story and TELL ME to keep it down, and then fucking fart and have the nerve to try and blame ME when you and i both know that YOU farted. Not me. YOU. i tried to be a lady and ignore it but then you had to go and blame ME?! i've dated my share of liars and i'll tell you right now, you better come clean and admit to it".
J stared at me, nose twitching, and replied, "it must have been someone sitting near us then". A quick scan revealed that no one was sitting anywhere NEAR us and so, grabbing my stuff, announced that i was leaving.
Sorry, shitbag, i already have someone who tries to blame their farts on me: my brother.