I went on a couple of dates with this guy I met at Walmart who we’ll call George Glass for reasons that are both unimportant and irrelevant. I’d like to point out that I met him in the parking lot because he so chivalrously offered to shovel my car out when it was stuck in a snow pile that I thought was a good idea to park on top of, and that I wasn’t just trolling the aisles for rando’s..
..George Glass was nice enough to help while I sat inside his already heated brand new Audi A6 (that should have been my first red flag that he was a total psycho, anyone who drives a brand new Audi shouldn’t be shopping at roll back prices), but decided to give him my number when he asked for it.
He called a few days later and asked me to dinner. I clearly texted my three best friends and asked what I should wear in addition to sending them the address of the restaurant just in case I went missing.
I had a really great time and he turned out to be super nice. After a few dates at various restaurants he invited me over to his condo for a “night in”. He said he would order takeout and asked me to bring a movie. That was his first mistake.
I have awful taste in movies. I mean, I don’t think it’s awful, but most people do. I live for SyFy, watch Alien vs. Predator 2-5 nights a week and spent most of last weekend watching all 5 Resident Evil movies.
Anyways, I had a super stressful day at work and was running late. I stopped home before heading to his condo because I wanted to change out of my work clothes and grab the movie. He texted me that the food had arrived and I panicked because I felt bad making him wait.
I was annoyed but quickly threw on black yoga pants, a black running fleece, grabbed one of my favorite hand-to-hand combat movies and looked in my fridge for something to bring. I had two twisted teas, three cold snaps and a miller light. Perfect.
So I show up on George Glass’s doorstep dressed as a fucking ninja with an underground prison fighting movie and a Stop & Shop bag of random fridge beverages. If that doesn’t scream “wife material” I honestly don’t know what does.
George Glass began to serve me a plate of what looked like squid arms and donkey vaginas. Not that I know what a donkey vagina looks like, but if I had to imagine one, it was what I was expected to eat for dinner.
Homeboy ordered Thai. That’s a pretty ballsy thing to order without asking someone if they like or eat it. I politely pushed some shit around my plate and took a bite. I tried so hard to muscle it down but it’s like my body knew it was donkey vagina and rejected it. BOOM – I vommed all over my plate at the dinner table.
George Glass looked at me with a blank stare and asked if I was okay. I smiled and asked where the restroom was. I sat in there for a few minutes contemplating if I should just jump out the window or drown myself in the tub, but decided to own it best I could and walked out laughing and spitting some bullshit about acid reflex.
I then almost immediately had a heart attack when his psycho ugly cat came bombing around the corner, out of fucking nowhere, chasing a bug.
I don’t fucking do cats.
I’m 1-allergic, 2-hate them because I think they’re all shady as fuck and would murder their owners in their sleep if given the chance and 3-what normal, single guy owns a fucking cat?
I said I didn’t feel good and went home. I never hung out with him again, and actually defriended him on Facebook JUST so I could write and share this post because I’m not trying to be murdered later.
Sooo…what did we learn from this? Don’t date guys you meet at Walmart.
Side note: I recently learned that a guy I work with is George Glass’s cousin. I discovered this when homeboy friended me on Facebook and George Glass was in his default – turns out, the whole family is apparently psychotic. Here’s a conversation between us via office communicator. I just..I can’t.
Facebook: The Real Cape
Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony
