Yeah, so today I pretty much suicide-bombed my dating karma.
I knew I was in trouble last week when this dude asked me out, and instead of saying to him, "I would rather have a yeast infection than look at your scraggly chin pubes or listen to your nails-on-a-chalkboard Midwestern accent for more than 3 consecutive minutes," our conversation went more like this:
Him: Hey, so you want to get together for dinner?
Me: Ah, yeah, well, I just don't know when that would be... things are real busy right now...
Him: I'm free Friday!
Me: Ah, yeah, I, uh, have plans...
Him: What about Saturday! Sunday! Monday! Tuesday!
Me: Well, I guess, Tuesday... but I work 'til 9, so...
Him: Ok, so a little after 9!
Me: Uh
Him: Should we go out? I can cook... I'll make you dinner. Great, I'm so excited!
Me: Ah. Yeah.
Biggest. Wuss. Ever. Not only was I unable to tell him I wasn't interested, I agreed to have dinner AT HIS HOUSE, possibly the most romantic of all date arrangements. Stupid. Stupidstupid.
Despite his hideous goatee and even hideous-er Midwestern accent, this guy is really, truly nice, and I would have felt like too much of a jerk telling him I wasn't interested. But I reeeeheeeheeeeally didn't want to go out with him. So I called him up today and told him, boy, this was really awkward, but, ah, well, I've started seeing someone, and I just wouldn't feel right about having dinner with his goatee. I mean, him. An out and out lie.
Explosions! smoke... karma... in flames...
No one will ask me out ever again. Cobwebs will grow between my legs. All of my friends will have closetfuls of the scarves and socks and blankets and adult-sized footed sleepers that I will have knitted for them on my lonely Saturday nights.
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