So last Sunday, when a guy I had met only the day before, asked what I was doing for the afternoon, I said, “no plans, want to meet for a coffee?” Oh my, boundaries broken, but it was a nice day and I didn’t feel like typing to a computer screen when I could be talking to a real person.
We even agreed to meet for lunch, which is a first date taboo in my books, because if the chemistry isn’t there, it can be choking down your lunch so fast, you look like you haven’t seen food in months.
Instant physical attraction, his online pictures didn’t do him justice. Italian but not the swarthy type, rugged but in a handsome way and gorgeous hair that kept falling into his face. “Franco, you can call me Frank.” Nah, no way, Franco is what I am sticking to.
Okay, here is where it gets weird! Weird in a big way…..
We order and are waiting for food while sipping on wine. We discuss all those things that would have been covered in online correspondence, “how long have you been on this site?”, “divorced or separated?”,” kids?” A tiny little part of me knows it is early but wow, been a long time since I met someone so attractive and can actually hold a normal conversation, hope blooms. Until, this weird conversation topic….”I like a clean woman.” Okay, I nod. He continues, “you can have great looks, great conversation but they need to be clean.” “If they aren’t clean, it just won’t happen.” “I don’t mean doctor approved clean, I just mean clean.” By now, the food has arrived and he is still going on, I can see heads turning, my raised quizzical eyebrows must have risen the, “what the hell are you talking about?”
All I could think about was an ad, I saw in a magazine last week for feminine products, “A clean beaver gets more wood.” Really…… I have no, idea what he is talking about, clean shaven, showered clean, douche clean? So I ask, “do you/they need to shower before sex, immediately after, Brazilian, a doctors note?”
He couldn’t answer succinctly, all he could say was “clean.” All I can imagine is being in bed with this guy and him progressing down “there” to proclaim his stamp of approval or not based on whatever his definition of clean was.
Dating has its eccentricities; I don’t need to be worried about whether I might be “clean”. What is he going to do, get a magic eraser out?
This clean beaver doesn’t need wood that much!
WTF Fifty? 