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Friday, September 16, 2005
And You Thought I Was Nice
The other day I went on a date. It was pretty much a blind date, or at least the 21st century version of a blind date: Guy finds a profile I have online. Guy e-mails me, we chat for a few days, he doesn’t have a picture so it’s literally blind, he asks if I want to “hang out” at a time when I’m bored and seemingly all my friends are with their boyfriends or working or something. So I say yes.
He picks me up at a coffeeshop where I am writing and enjoying an excellent chocolate chip cookie. He is not what I pictured in my head. He is not attractive. (Disclaimer: He is not attractive to me. He quite possibly would be to you). He says where do you want to go? I, trapped, say: Let’s go to Lake Harriet for a walk. Because it’s close by and you don’t have to make eye contact when you’re walking.
And then he says, “I’ve never been to Lake Harriet.” And I, knowing he grew up in an inner ring suburb, cannot believe he has never been to one of the most popular and wonderful destinations in Minneapolis. And this is where the date really dies, because physical inattraction can shift and be more than compensated by amazing personality, but a lack of curiosity about one’s world, especially one’s immediate world, cannot be redeemed. I’m sorry. It can’t.
And so I direct him to the lake. We park as close as possible and begin walking. It’s three miles around the lake. I wonder how I’m going to make it a quick three miles. Then I realize I am wearing flip flops.
“Oh wow, I shouldn’t have worn these sandals, but I didn’t know I would be walking.”
Of course, I’ve walked around Lake Harriet many times in those exact shoes. I feel like an ass, but it’s necessary.
“We’ll have to turn around soon.”
I am proud of my ingenuity and I smile inside.
And then he says, “Maybe we should sit on this bench and talk for awhile.”
The horror.
Luckily, God loves me and the bench was wet.
After several more attempts at pausing, we returned to the car and took the most direct route back to the coffeeshop where we shook hands and I hopped out. No promise of “Next time” or “see you later.” Just “goodbye.”
I feel that this is evidence that I’m a complete dick, especially because I’m writing about it. I also feel it’s evidence that blind dates, like life, are like a box of chocolates. Fill in the rest.
Posted by Aaron on September 16, 2005 12:23 PM

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