There are some things you shouldn’t say to a guy on the first date. Here’s one: When he mentions he has six siblings, don’t down your last gulp of beer and ask: “What are you, Mormon or something?” When my date answered yes, every ticking second became a minute. Still, he looked strikingly like Matt Damon, and so I hoped we could keep the date going a little while longer.
On the walk to my car, he nudged me on my shoulder to say goodbye and spell out certain doom: This is the dating equivalent of a noogie. (In the world of online dating, it’s important to remember that you will be rejected. It doesn’t mean you’re undesirable. It’s just an inevitability, and it’s healthy to keep that in mind. Another thing to keep in mind: You’re someone’s cup of tea, so try not to take it too personally.) Clearly, I wasn’t Matt Damon’s cup of tea, which is why I was so surprised when he called two days later to ask me out to dinner.
Now, in the Centennial State we have a saying about guys like him, who graduate from the Colorado School of Mines. Bearing in mind that the male-to-female ratio favors the ladies, the saying goes: The odds are good, but the goods are odd. He was a School of Mines grad, a mining engineer, and as the saying goes, the goods were very, very odd.
Over dinner, he repeatedly asked if I was dating anyone else. When I steered the conversation away from the topic — unsure where it would lead — he would ask me to dish on problems with past exes. I’d try to talk about work, politics, future goals and aspirations, all to no avail. As he countered every attempt I made on a normal conversation, I began to realize that the deep well of knowledge my date had on topics other than interpersonal relationships more closely resembled a scorched desert. But I continued to see him. Because, my God, the face.
Truly, he looked like an off duty super hero. A chiseled jaw punctuated by a dirty blond five o’clock shadow, blue eyes framed by haphazard hair — his appearance garnered looks from waitresses and words of praise from housemates. Granted, I was taking a dip in the shallow end, but only to get my feet wet.
Three weeks later, and we were still talking about interpersonal relationships when I decided to reward my hard work by sleeping with him. And so, in a very healthy manner, we expressed our superficial connection through a thin layer of latex when two underwhelming minutes later he was fumbling in my bathroom with a used condom. I asked what he was doing. He answered: “Looking for a place to throw this away. Can I flush it down your toilet?”
“No,” I said. “Why not just throw it in the trash?”
He peered out from the bathroom. “I don’t know how to say this,” he bumbled, “but I don’t leave condoms behind.” Afraid to know the answer, I braced myself and asked why not. “Because I’m afraid women will take the sperm and … you know.”
Now, I can only think of one time I was actually rendered speechless. I was watching “The Big Lebowski” at an outdoor amphitheater when a giant meteorite flew across my field of vision, broke into three giant pieces and disappeared over the horizon in bright, fierce flames.
This was up there with that.
“Are you insane?” I finally asked the Mormon. He had no response, and so I proceeded to reframe my question using different synonyms for insane. “Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind? Who does that? What girl in her right mind would ever do a thing like that? Have you ever even taken a Sex Ed class?” Thinking that his sperm was long dead by now, I patronized his logic: “Do you also not let girls swallow for fear of the same?”
I must have jumbled his programming. That, or he started to worry about girls he may have impregnated via oral. To be sure he violated his one rule and left the condom behind in all of its life-giving glory. After discovering the sad thing drooping dejected in my waste bin, I decided to send him one last text: “What do you think about the name Quinn for a girl!?”