Eve and Bob: Date #110
By Eve Sturges
So, red flag #1: I meet Bob at a club.
I am not the clubbing type, but was visiting friends, who are indeed the clubbing type, and I am dynamic. I can handle it. Once upon a time, before diapers, responsibility, and age 22, I went to clubs. I totally danced and drank fruity cocktails and threw myself into crowds of sweaty meatheads who tossed me around like a lost sneaker in the dryer. I did. And I met boys and had conversations not unlike this one:
Douche Bob: HEYTHISMUSICISISAWESOMEDOYOUCOMEHERE OFTEN????
Me: SEWING MACHINE!
Douche Bob: DOYOUWANTADRINKIAMINAFRATERNITY!!!
Me: BOBBING FOR APPLES!
Douche Bob: IBOUGHTTHISSTRIPEDOXFORDSHIRTINTHEMARINA!!!
Me: I LOVE MANATEES!
So the other night, in a club, meeting Bob, the conversation wasn’t much different. Except that Bob…had gray hair.
Red Flag #2: Bob didn’t ask me for my phone number. He asked my friend for my number. This is just weird. Also, she is quite tall and willowy and gorgeous in all those ways, so I am really not convinced that there wasn’t some extremely bizarre mix up.
So here’s what I’m thinking, and why I agree to dinner: maybe he wants to be a sugar daddy? Maybe hanging on the arm of a silver fox isn’t so bad if he’s buying me mink coats and groceries and stuff. Just think! Mink coats and groceries!
Also: He’s Australian, which is hot, on the phone.
Red Flag #3: He has me pick him up at his place, even though he lives less than 4 blocks from the restaurant. Again, just weird.
Annnnd, it’s the shortest date in history, because it’s awful. Turns out, he knows everything! More than me! Way way way more than me! So much more, in fact, that he won’t let me get a word in edgewise for an entire hour!
Bob: Do you know Seal Beach?
Me: Oh, not really. I mean, it’s all the same to me, south of Santa Monica—
Bob: Ohhhhhhh Nooooooooo. It isn’t like that at allllll
Me: I know, I was just kidd—
Bob: Each community is so incredibly different from one another, I would never live in Huntington, for example, because…blah blah blah blah
Me: No, I know. I was just kidding, trying to capitalize on the stereotypes that West Siders have about East Siders and visa vers---
Bob: I can’t belieeeeeve you would say that. Oohhhhhh it’s not the same, and Orange County is so different from Los Angeles, just the quality of life and the quality of the beaches…and the blah blah blah
So he goes on and on about the beautiful idiosyncrasies of the Seal Beach community, the exciting world of venture banking (is that what’s its called? Adventure banking? Am I missing something?) …and rugby.
Bob: you ever seen Rugby?
Me: As a matter of fact, yes—
Bob: because it’s no pansy American football, I’ll tell you THAT
Me: Yes, I know, because I had a boyfriend who pl—
Bob: We rugby players don’t even have pads, did you know THAT? Blah, BLAH, blah..
Me: (just nods yes and has another sip of wine)
Bob: …we play for 45 STRAIGHT minutes, none of this wearing pads bull shit, you know? I mean, I can’t even believe it’s ever a discussion who is the tougher MAN—
And then, suddenly, after 1 hour and 15 minutes of this, I get a positively brilliant idea. It is in fact, the best idea I have ever had:
Eve: Oh. Look at the time. I have to go home. I promised the babysitter.
I don’t wear mink anyway.
Author’s Note: this is such a better story when I can do it out loud. I do a killer Aussie accent. Killer.