Short/Blind-Date!?!?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Let me preface this made-for-comedic-television-real-life-event with this statement: God absolutely, hands down, positively has a funny sense of humor. Wait on Him for what you want because you could run up on the unthinkable. So I’m going to take you back to the 2nd semester of my first year of college, recently on my own, if you can call 8 months out of daddy’s house that, and ready to engage in the college life...

Submitted: October 20, 2008

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Submitted: October 20, 2008

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Hearing of my recent break-up with my boyfriend, a good friend of mine, well actually a former good friend of mine (after all, friends don’t let friends blind date no-no’s) decides to fix me up with a blind date. Her exact words: “Let me fix you up!” I should’ve noticed the warning signs early on. Anything that needs “fixing” is broken. Second set of signs-random descriptions like: “He goes to church girl”, “He’s really, really nice”, “He has a good job”, and “Girl, he’s got his own car”. Every woman knows that those attributes are good, but the more burning question is: “What does he look like?” I mean, what woman doesn’t want to don a nice arm piece…really?!?!  I think that being in a relationship for a year and some change dulled my dating instinct, causing me to negate and overlook the imperatives. When it comes to blind dating, you must shift into Barbara Walters mode, the mode of asking the hard, tough questions that others are afraid to ask. To anyone reading this, I encourage you; well, I actually implore you to get investigative if you ever consider blind dating, or you will definitely regret it.
So back to my story…being the woman that I am, I did however prepare myself for the date: I practiced the 3 basic greetings for meeting blind dates (as taken from the 2nd edition of “Blind Dating for Dummies). Greeting #1: “Wow, you look really nice!” for the blind date that you envision planning your future with. Greeting #2: “I like your outfit, it’s really nicely put together!” for the date that isn’t exactly aesthetically pleasing to the eye, but is definitely friend material. Greeting #3: “I’ve had a horrible stomach ache for most of the day and I’m not too sure if I’ll be able to make it through the whole night! But I’ll definitely try.” for the date you hope no one ever finds out about. Note 3 things: first, stating that you will “try” with the 3rd type of blind date shows effort and hopefully thwarts “Mr. All-Wrong-for-Me” from your plan to ditch him in the next 30 minutes. Further, the whole “not feeling too well” scenario allows you to buy enough time in the bathroom so hopefully none of your real friends or a better looking prospect sees you with “Mr. OMG-Y-Me!”. Lastly, if you should encounter guy number 3, use your frequent bathroom breaks, where you have to run to because you “not feeling too well”, to program his number in your phone under the new first and last name “Don’t Answer-You’ll Be Sorry!”
Okay, so upon finishing my initial greetings, I received a call from this guy. He sounded so right for me, with a voice smooth enough to wrap yourself in. But as the God of my destiny would have it, his voice was the only appealing thing that he had going for himself as I would come to learn. But don’t rush me, I’ll get there shortly.
I took my time to get ready. I invited another good friend of mine over to do my makeup and critique my hair. I figured that no matter what the other half looked like, I didn’t want to arrive did up in bright shades of fuschia and aquamarine looking like RuPaul’s best gal pal in high school. As far as hair goes, I typically prefer to sport the All-American slick and sleek ponytail, but for this night I chose to do it up: I’d wear my hair up in a bun; no, down…all down; never mind, scratch that-soft curls all over.  My outfit was casually cute, but picked for comfort, and more importantly, functionalism. I needed attire that would allow me to mad-dash in a moment’s notice.
After preparing and primping, I anxiously but nervously hopped into my car. Blind date rule #26: always, always, always drive your own car. You don’t want to risk getting stuck with “Mr. I-Know-She-Didn’t-Do-This-To-Me” for four hours of embarrassing interactions and non-intriguing banter. Besides, allowing your date to pick you up negates your whole “stomach ache” excuse and the justification of you leaving early because you “don’t feel so well”. Blind dating is about thinking on your feet. Remember that!
After a 20 minute drive of nerves and randomly wild expectation/possibilities, I arrived at the movies. Blind date rule #32, never set up a date that’s close to where you live. You want to spare yourself the oddity and strangeness of running into “Mr. Why?-Why?-Why?” in Publix or at the China Delights while you’re picking up your order of Schezuan Chicken and Egg Foo-Yung. Peculiar moments like those aren’t easily explainable.
Anyhow, I parked in the garage, strategically positioned for quick getaway (thinking on my feet). Walking towards the entrance of the Citrus Park Regal Movie Theaters, I searched for a sage green polo shirt and khaki Dockers coupled with brown-on-brown Steve Maddens. Scanning the scene in “Where’s Waldo?” fashion, my eyes finally locked in on a little boy, at least that was the impression of my first mind. Realizing the possibility that this might be the guy that was “perfect” for me per my ex-good friend, I fumbled inside my purse, searching for random, unimportant items, in an attempt to make myself appear to have forgotten something of grave importance in my car, and thus justify me returning to my car, and then reversing like Knight Rider and getting the heck up out of dodge. But amidst the loud exchanges common to public places, I heard my name echo, and simultaneously felt my heart drop into my womb. That little nagging voice of regret screamed loudly, “That’s him, that’s him!” and then began laughing at me and taunting my decision to listen to idiocy. I turned around to find walking eagerly towards me, not Mr. Right or Mr. Perfect, but Dr. Evil's tiny, wicked, little sidekick-Mini Me. Can we say OMG?!?!?! Actually, I think Mini-B is more suited for him because not only was he short, but his glasses lead me to believe that he was bordering illegal blindness. His glasses looked strong enough to analyze the attributes of the atom or further explore theories of quantum physics. There he stood, all 4 feet/9 inches of him, wearing the code outfit he had told me he’d be wearing when we spoke earlier. Needless to say, the blind dating handbooks didn’t prepare me for being taken aback to the point of speechlessness…an OMG to the 3rd power times 16 type of moment! His outfit gave me the impression that he shopped at Baby-Gap or from JC Penny’s children section. Actually, his shirt looked like it might have been a Onesie, snapping between the legs. And the glasses were thick, appearing to be made of plexi-glass. At least they were durable…I guess.
Please note that I am not the tallest woman in the world, standing approximately 5 feet/3 inches tall, but having on your side Prince Alarming who stands about 3 inches shorter than adult Gary Coleman and 1 ½ feet taller than “De Plane, De Plane” Tattoo kind of makes you feel as tall as Shaq playing in a Little League basketball game or Schwarzenegger in his role as “Kindergarten Cop”. What’s worse, when I looked at him, I got the sudden urge to bend down face-to-face level with him, rub his little round, manly face (on his childlike body) with my thumb and middle fingers, and engage in high pitched cooing and baby chat with him, something that I’m sure would tick even my 1 year old nephew off.
So we began talking the usual first date blah, blah, blah, etc., etc., etc., yada, yada, yada. The weird thing is that with each exchange, an echo seemed to resound because of the distance between my mouth and his ears/his mouth and my ears. The ring of the echo made me think my hearing aid battery was dying until I remembered that I don’t have a hearing aid…my hearing is perfect!
Five minutes elapsed…5 long and draining minutes…5 agonizing and odd minutes…5 minutes of planning the ultimate revenge on my friend, whom I’d marked for death…5 laborious and taxing minutes of trying hard to not reference his height or those Coke-bottle-bottom glasses he was wearing.  I can earnestly say that I fully understand the meaning of the phrase “4-eyes” now. That 5 minutes is probably the longest I’ve ever known in my relatively young life.
Suddenly, I remembered the Blind Dating for Dummies! Handbook, one of many I’d browsed through in preparing for the unknown. Page 71, paragraph 5, sentences 1-11: “Always have a someone you know and trust to call a minimum of 3 times within the first 20 minutes of the date. On the 4th call, considering that the date is going well and you find yourself sitting across from the father/mother of your children, don’t answer. That will be a sign to your friend that you don’t need rescuing. However, if by the 4th phone call you find that you have been sitting across from Shabba Ranks or Kid Rock or Craig Mack, you politely tell your date that you should take the call because it might be an emergency. Upon answering (be sure to set your volume settings to ‘Blaring Loud’), position the phone such that your blind date is able to hear your friend yell in their most frightened voice, “They killed Kenny!” [actually, that’s a bit much; “The dog has diarrhea!” will suffice]. You then fix your face such that you appear on the verge of a torrential downpour of manufactured tears, and you say, with lips trembling uncontrollably for effect, “My baby needs me, I’ve gotta go!” As you snatch up your belongings, you frantically head for the nearest exit maintaining the look of distress. You yell back, “I’m sorry the night is ending on this note. It’s just that my dog Ralph is all I got here. Thanks for understanding.” And within 2 minutes flat after the 4th call, you’re out of there.
“It’s all coming back to me now!” I thought to myself. I was intuitively prepared for this. It was time to raise up and ride out. So I sat idly, forcing myself to smile through corny jokes and look at a mouth devoid of all 32, waiting for grace and mercy and thanksgiving to phone in at any moment. Within 5 minutes, grace was calling, and inside of me, my soul was turning cartwheels of joy. “Hmm, who is this calling me? I’m out with you-they’d better leave me alone!” I said openly, causing Shortstop (with his left eye wandering somewhere northwest of us) to smile bashfully, as if to say “Aw Shucks!” Forty-five seconds later, phone call #2 rang in with mercy on the other end. I then silenced my phone to vibrate status, and watched his little self-esteem-o-meter to go up a whole 20 knots. Third call came with grace, mercy, and thanksgiving on 3-way. I pushed ignore, and I could swear I watched Shorty’s eyes glow with red and pink hearts in them. “If you need to take that, I’ll understand!” he said in that same smooth, melodious bass that had caused me to entertain the notion of blind dating in the first place. To this day, I am amazed at how God was able to put such a deep, rich, tone in a midget! Oh the wonders of His hands. I, in false reluctance, agreed that perhaps it would be wise to take the next call if one should come. On the 4th call, I had to fight back the laughter as I picked up the phone thinking, “I am so out of here!” With volume high, I listened as my roommate screamed “The dog is pooping and puking everywhere! You need to get back here as soon as possible.” Following “Handbook” procedures, I panicked frantically, and headed towards the exit as I screamed, “I’m sorry, Baby Booshay is all I have! I will call you later-goodbye.” As I reached my car, I thanked God (perhaps ignorantly) for freedom and deliverance although they’d been attained with and through lies (pray for me). I would, however, like to note that my performance was Tony Award winning material, the kind of stuff great actors only dream about.
Riding home, I relived the events of the night: a short date that I had a short date with; a blind date that was on the verge of illegal blindness as evidenced by the binoculars that he sported; an evening with the stars: Webster, Tattoo, and Arnold, all in one. As I swore off blind dates and blind dating, I tried with no success, to hold back my laughter. Realizing that I was losing to near hysteria, I gave in and came to understand a very spiritual lesson: It’s always best to let God order your steps because you (and bad-friends) could lead you to some awkward places in life. “Good one Father, You won this!” I thought as I headed home.
 


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