No Daddy Yet

Well, it’s official. I am a busy working, DATING, single mama.
For those of you who may not understand the significance of this, it’s not just that it’s scary and expensive and exhausting and lame to be dating as a mother; it’s that it’s my first date since my ex. And my ex and I broke up on September 16.

2003.

So it’s, uh, been a little while.

The good news is, I’ve apparently developed an extremely healthy positive attitude about the misery that is online dating. Previously, I would be all stressed out about him and me and rejection and him being a loser and me having a fat ass and expectations and those kinds of things. Now, I figure, I’m paying for a sitter so screw everything else, I’m sure as heck going to enjoy myself, even if it is a total bomb. And oh, boy, was last night’s nuclear.

First of all, I knew in advance he had ‘some’ tattoos. I took ‘some’ to mean, ‘a very discreet and tastefully done miniature caricature of Calvin and Hobbes, or the equivalent’. Not full arm sleeves, back of neck, legs, god knows where. Secondly, he was wearing those baggy skater shorts that ride low and go to the knees. Kind of an odd choice for a 31-year old on a first date to a nice restaurant. Thirdly, he was wearing some sort of bird head on a necklace. Intriguing, yes. Appealing, no. Now, I don’t appreciate being judged solely on appearance, and I work very hard to avoid doing just that to others. So I was willing to look past these minor surface imperfections and discover his beautiful soul or whatever.

We sat down at the Japanese-themed dinner table and I ordered the hibachi dinner. You know, soup, salad with ginger dressing, the rice and noodles and chicken and zucchini/onions, the whole deal. He ordered a sushi roll. ONE ROLL. Four little teensy itsy-bitsy pieces. And he’s a few hundred pounds, so I kinda raised an eyebrow and had to ask. Oh, why, why am I such a curious person?

Apparently my date had once weighed 490 lbs. As a result, he went into liver failure and had to have ½ of it, plus his duodenum, removed. And now he can only eat little bits, very, very, VERY slowly. Like, over two painful hours. I was initially shocked at hearing the word ‘duodenum’ during pleasant dinner conversation, but recovered well and said lots of things about how strong he was and how awesome for losing weight, which sadly led to him explaining in detail his upcoming skin removal surgery. That led to a story about a prior back injury, where he had developed an addiction to pain meds and spiraled downwards until he was buying Oxycodone on the streets and ended up spending time in a methodone clinic.

Dude, seriously, what do you say to that?! I said very brightly, ‘Well, I hear those clinics do wonders!’ in a slightly nervous and falsely chipper kind of voice.

Those were the highlights of the conversation. Other fun facts that came out about my date included narcolepsy and complete and utter self-involvement. Not once did he ask me a question about my job, my life, my beautiful and most-precious-thing-in-the-whole-world-to-me daughter, or fantastic hair. Oh, and his artistic glass-blowing job? He makes BONGS.

*sigh*

But you know what – I got out. I did it. I took a chance, and I put myself out there, and at the very least I showered and had a good meal. I opened myself up to experience greatness but got a heaping portion of good ol’ fashioned crazy. So what? It was hilarious. It was an extremely one-sided conversation, but it was extremely entertaining. How many other first dates include a story about a 500-lb Man-Eating Chicken freak show where the punch line is your date, in his underwear, mowing through some KFC? That’s great story value there, my friends. And that’s something that you can’t buy. It has to be earned.

If you are married, please be nice to your husband today. You don’t have to do this.

Happy Autumn!