Wet Shoes make for BAD dates

My soggy feet from yesterday brought back memories.

I was suckered into accepting a date in college. A) I was painfully shy and had cleverly avoided previous request from this guy because B) I had NO—absolutely NO interest AT ALL and c) I had a crush on someone else. Turns out that someone else mistook my shyness for aloofness and orchestrated the whole date with Doofus. Crush guy told Doofus that I liked him and would love to go out with him. He then had a girl tell me that he had promised Doofus I would go out with him that evening. Once the plan was set in motion there was no going back

So…trapped in date I never wanted to be on I am forced to go along with this evil plot. Doofus picks me up. He’s pumped. There is no telling what Crush Boy told him. From his level of excitement I gotta believe he convinced Doofus that despite being shy I was secretly in love. I am miserable. I hunker down and huddle against the door of his car in case I have to make a jump for it. Don’t laugh. This comes into play later.

Doofus presents his monologue. Being socially awkward, shy and wanting to be ANYWHERE else it’s doubtful that I contributed at all to the conversation-hence the monologue reference. Luckily ‘town’ is only a few miles away. We arrive at…wait for it…Taco Bell Clue #15 that there would never, ever be a 2nd Doofus date.

We order and I flee to the table in the far corner. Obviously pleased to be “out” Doofus orders some ‘special’ and his order takes longer. I don’t know how you order special at Taco Bell for Pete’s Sake but hey, Taco Bell was his date destination of choice after repeated attempts to get me to go out with him so I guess he was showing off. He finally gets his whatever and makes his way to the self-serve fountain drink area where he spends another 3 minutes filing up a cup the size of a water tower. Seriously. We went to school in a small town and I dare say that the water supply for our entire population could have fit in this super-sized-bargain-priced cup. During the fill-up he’s shooting me self-satisfied smirks as if to say, ‘aren’t you impressed with my extra-large-massive-beverage receptacle’ I wasn’t.

He finally gets the trough filled. Channeling his inner James Bond he attempts to pivot smartly in his loafers and heads toward the table. His loafers must have had rubber soles because the pivot didn’t go as planned. His feet stayed planted while his upper body proceeds to head in the right direction. Not being made out of rubber this doesn’t go so well. About ½ way around his upper body realizes that his feed are not moving and catapults back around with the force of a tightly wound spring slamming a screen door. You can almost hear the “schwip”. The tray wobbles and in ssslllloooowwwww motion the GIGANTIC drink teeters and totters and topples over. It sounded like a bomb going off or the Hoover Dam bursting. Coke cascaded down for a solid minute.

Coke drenches Doofus from elbows to loafers. Drenched. There isn’t a dry spot on his lower body. He pauses and looks around dumbly. I, embarrassed for him, turn my head as if there is something mesmerizing about the traffic on Jacksonville Highway. I don’t have to be looking in his direction to know he’s headed toward the table. SQUEAK, SWISH, SLOP, THWAP. Those are the sounds that his rubber sole faux loafers make across the tile of the dining room floor. SQUEAK, SWISH, SLOP, THWAP. . SQUEAK, SWISH, SLOP, THWAP. SQUEAK, SWISH, SLOP, THWAP. He arrives at the table. I demurely keep my eyes on my tray. There is a sound that makes me think a donkey has wandered into the restaurant. It’s a cross between a BRAY and a laugh. I look up. “Huh-huh. Glad you didn’t notice that I had an accident back there.” Is he serious? I glance to my right where pools of coke have collected from every step he took. Seriously a child could swim in these puddles! The fast food cashiers are staring in amazement at the mess. They are calling corporate to find out how to deal with a massive spill. Dude has coke dripping from his wrist. I can hear his pants squish as he shifts in his chair. Not notice? How could I not notice? My mama just taught me to have better manners then to mention it.

I mumble or smile or something without stating the obvious. He picks up his special order burrito; which now has the consistency of stew and starts unwrapping his meal. Every tried to use wet toilet paper for anything? Yeah…this has the same texture. Hard to be cool when you are scrapping mushy, wet, wads of paper from your food while sitting soaking wet on a vinyl chair but he gave it a try. The monologue continued as he scraped and finally just gave up and started eating his super-sized-special-order burrito with waxy, globby paper still clinging to it. I make a conscious effort to bring my lower jaw to meet my upper jaw so I don’t appear as dumbfounded as I am. Homeboy has every intention of continuing on with this ‘date’.

Awww-Hellllll-No, I think. At this point I tune everything out. I heard WA-WAH-WA-WAH as I calculate how much time he had left on the soggy burrito and how the heck I can bring this disaster to an end. I was pulled out of my calculations when he put down the mess (the part that hadn’t disintegrated thru his fingers) and dramatically said, “I figured it out!!” He sounded like he had just discovered the cure for cancer. “What?” I say, being the award-winning conversationalist that I am. “I finally know why I find you so attractive!!” I don’t say a word hoping against all hope that he doesn’t finish the thought. I am praying to patron-saint-of-bad-dates that Doofus remembers he is sitting in a pool of Coke and decides now is NOT the time to finish this particular thought.

Guess the patron-saint-of-bad-dates has a sense of humor and wanted to hear what Homeboy could possibly have to say because Doofus continued. I SWEAR TO YOU this is what he said. Pause for dramatic effect. “I know why I find you so attractive…” Please-no-please-no-please-no. I am trying to drown out his words. Please don’t say anything; please don’t say anything, I think. He continues. I swear…this was how he finished this thought. “I know why I find you so attractive. It’s your eyebrows and the way you comb them up.” In stunned silence I sit there. Really? He’s eyeing me like a cheetah eyeing its prey. Does he really think that commenting on the way I comb my eyebrows just earned him and his soggy shoes a pass to the next base? Homeboy is quite pleased with himself.

At this point I am done. D. O. N. E. Manners be darned. Somehow I manage to convey that I have to leave. Now. Right now. I am sure he was stunned as he picked up his tray, sloshing coke everywhere. After all he seems to think he’s NAILING this date. Dinner and a compliment about why he finds me attractive? I can almost seem him planning on how he’s going to brag about this with his boys. High-fives all around. Yeah, right.

Squish, EEK, Squish, EEK…we make our way to the car. Coke was still spurting out of his shoes with every step. I resume my hunker/huddle against the passenger door as he drives the 2 miles back to my dorm. A single one-way road looped in front of my dorm; which sat just inside a curve coming from down a hill. You had to slow down. Had to. I knew this and was ready. The minute Doofus slowed down I had the door open and was landing in a crouched position ready to roll if need be. No kidding. I yelled a, “Thank You,” (I am a mannered Southern girl after all) as I sprang upright and sprinted inside the building. I never looked back.

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