Two Scoops of Vanilla Testosterone

Zany Delaney’s Dates from Hell

He and I had been talking for two days. At that time, I was fresh back into the dating scene, still searching the mythical amount of good fish left in the sea — or in Jordan’s case, those left in a two-by-one tank.

I thought I had found him — you know, the great white shark, too good to be true. Over 25, taller than me, masters degree in God knows what, good phone manners and an eloquent speaker, he had the gentlemen’s personality to carry off the well groomed beard. It left me breathless.

The date was set. It was a wonderful summer night to grab some ice cream in Abdoun. At around 9:30 I was there and so was he. Hellos and proper introductions were exchanged and his voice was better than it was on the phone. Sadly, however, his manners were not.

I was fresh back into the dating scene, still searching the mythical amount of good fish left in the sea

I felt humiliated when he looked me up and down and, in a commanding manner, said: “now act like a man — there are people around!”

It was not the words themselves that took the air out of my lungs, it was the way they were delivered to me: with a bitch-slap. “Excuse me?” I gasped.

At this point I was hoping he would say something to save the situation. I was too optimistic.

“Oh come on babe,” he continued. “Don’t be pissed. look I’m a great date, and I promise you tonight will be a night to remember”

Like I would ever forget it!

“All I am asking for is try to act straight here, not flamboyant! Man up your attitude, and when we go to my house later you can act as gay as you want.”

All I am asking for is try to act straight here, not flamboyant!

I was disgusted. Here was this man, telling me where I can act as gay as I want — as if the world is my stage and I wake up every morning to revise my lines and practice the amount of gayness to add to today’s act.

He then flashed a smile at me with his entire body, thinking his charming physique was wooing me. I then proceeded to direct him to a part of his body where he could shove his macho-man insecurities, gave him a piece of my mind and stormed away — but of course not before I lit up the imaginary stage, got ready for tonight’s act, and told him in self-respecting, gay-acting, grown-woman matter to “Have a good night”.

I meant it. But when I added “I’m a LADY and I don’t go home with a guy on the first date”? That was a big fat lie.

This article is part of a Dates from Hell series first published in MyKali here.

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