It dawned on me the other day that dating is a totally unregulated industry.
I mean, where is the FDA when you need them?
Which is another way of saying, why did the guy I once went out with who spent more time chatting up his cell phone than actually talking to me not come with a warning label?
When he did pull himself away from his phone so that we could order some food, he said under his breath (although I still heard him), and this is a quote, "Ok, let’s just get this over with."
Excuse me? I mean, word to the wise, people: It is a heck of a lot ruder to suffer through a date as if you’re doing jail time than it is to just beg out of it in the first place. Say you’ve got diarrhea. Believe me, no one will ask any follow-up questions.
But wait. There’s more.
Take the blind date I had a few years ago in Chicago. Please, take it. Because I wish I could expunge it from my memory bank.
We had been introduced through a mutual friend who, it seems, mentioned to her mother that we were going out. Her mother in turn mentioned this to friends of hers who also knew the man in question. And unbeknownst to me, this third party happened to call my date moments before he was about to enter the bar to meet me.
Let’s just say that by the time we met, he was fuming. I am not exaggerating. He felt like he was in a little shtetl and his civil liberties were taken away from him and blah, blah, blah.
Which is another way of saying, What did Avigail do?
I mean, all I did was mention to the friend who introduced us that we were set to meet. Is it my fault that people gossip? I didn’t even know the third party who made that unfortunate phone call. And truth be told, they were just excited for the guy. Which is another way of saying, they were happy he was going on a date.
My point is I never had a chance with that guy. My only consolation was, as an Israeli not used to Chicago’s winters, he made a rather ungraceful exit.
You see, he was not wearing proper footwear and so after we said goodbye and stepped outside, he took maybe one step and then slipped on the ice and fell…on his tush! He was tall, too! Which is another way of saying, he had a long way to fall! Let the record show, that date or no date, I was decked out in the proper winter gear.
Where was I? Oh, yes.
So how many minutes in the naughty corner for these fellows? Which is another way of saying, who is going to pull these criminals – and their carbon copies – off the dating shelf for good?