K. So I meet a man online. We have lunch. He is stunning, successful in his field, collects odd widgets, healthy, perhaps drinks too much, but you can't have everything. We talk on the phone about his trips to Ventura Co. and his upcoming surgery.
We have a second date. This is fun. My neighborhood pals come out and "accidentally" bump into him. Wide eyes. "You were right, Dear, he's stunning. And charming. You didn't mention that he is tall." Dear gets points for being seen with stunning, charming tall guy. And she gets to have dinner with him, too.
Date says halfway through dinner, "Oh, I left my wallet in my car -- let me run back and get it." I say, "It's alright. I've got it." He nods. When I go to the Ladies' Room, I take care of the check. On my way back, I see him talking to the waitress, and putting money in her hand. She says, "It's paid," and tries to hand it back. He tells her to keep it. He digs deeper into his jeans pocket and tries to hand me one of these Bills. I say, "please put that away. I feel ... odd, taking money across the table like this." Stunning tall green-eyed fella puts it away. *wink*
We go for a drive in my little car. He doesn't really fit, but we find a way to adjust the seat. Stunning tall green-eyed man takes a bottle of beer out of his leather jacket and cracks it. I pull over and suggest we get out of car. He wants to drink the beer in my car. I remind him of the open container laws, and this is, after all, my car. Stunning tall green-eyed beer-drinking man says, "it's not illegal if you don't get caught." He swigs.
I begin to walk away, hoping to lead stunning tall green-eyed beer-drinking man to a nice view of the Bay. He reluctantly follows. We sit on a log as he swigs his beer and I watch the planes take off and land. We talk of many things. He tells me about his dates. He makes fun of her and pokes a jab in another's direction. I say, "sounds like you haven't had much luck with online dating." He says he makes out alright, chuckles and elbows me. I fall off the log. He laughs.
Stunning tall green-eyed beer-drinking man stands up, leans on a tree and pisses. He says, "it's getting late. We should go." A little robotically, I rise from the damp wood chips and dust myself off. I think of all the drunken pissers who have used these wood chips to hide in. I dust harder, then dust my hands.
I drive back down the mountain and toward the highway. Stunning tall green-eyed beer-drinking tree-pissing man pulls out another beer. Before I get a chance to protest, he cracks it and swigs. I pull over. I insist he pour it out, promising to replace it with apricot micro-brew. He relents. I put the empty in the trunk.
Stunning tall green-eyed beer-drinking tree-pissing man tells me a story about his father leaving him alone in a cinema when he was a boy, so said father can go on a date. I ask, "how old were you?" He says, "eight." I say, "that's really sad." He says, "no, it was Cool Hand Luke. Nothing sad about it. Besides, my dad deserved a date." I ask, "so, this was unusual?" He asks, "Hm?" I say, "eight's a little young to be at a movie alone." He says, "well, it was full of people. Only one old man was alone. I felt sorry for him. Besides, maybe I was in high school." I wonder whether high school kids need to be posited in a cinema while dad is on a date, but think that's not necessarily my worry.
As we near my home, stunning tall beer-drinking tree-pissing man asks if he can stop at a liquor store to replace his beer. I pull into the small parking lot in the Elmhurst Area of Oakland. I am nervous. When he returns, he hands me a ginger ale and begins to crack this bottle, too. But I am quick and grab the bottle from him and pop it into the trunk very fast and close it before date can protest or we can be shot. Without looking into the eyes of brothers who are watching us as if we'd fallen from Mars, we leave.
We drive past the airport. Stunning tall beer-drinking tree-pissing man tells me another story of wanting to buy a skateboard as a kid. His father says no. He wants to buy skis. His father says no. He wants to play football. His father says no. I say, "that's sad." He says, "no, my dad was afraid I'd get hurt." I say, "oh." I try to tell cheerful story of when some friends and I went to Victoria, BC last year. Stunning tall beer-drinking tree-pissing man says, "boring." He begins to snore. I put on Nirvana. I turn it up.
We get to my place. He is asleep. I try to rouse him. I realize he is not sleeping, he has passed out. I pinch him. Nice biceps. I cop a feel of his delts. Also nice. I call his name. Closer to his ear. He whispers another woman's name. Just as despair begins to set in, I get an idea. I open the trunk, get the beer, put it near his head and open it. Stunning tall green-eyed beer-drinking tree-pissing passed-out man is awake, alert and on his feet. *victory!*
I begin to think this man should not be on the road in his little white sportscar. I take him inside. He finds the bathroom on instinct. I can hear that he is not as instinctive as to the precise location of the bowl. I make up the sofa. Stunning tall not-so-charming beer-drinking tree-pissing passed out man knows his role exactly and plomps himself heavily on the sofa. He has again passed out. I put a plastic-lined trash bin near his head, take off his shoes, and leave him there.
In the morning, I make coffee and scones. Date wakes up, makes his way to bathroom and is not there long. I ask if he needs a shower or toothbrush. He says, "I just brushed my teeth." Mental note to self: throw out toothbrush without using it. Also bleach bathroom well. I serve him coffee and scones. He is happy.
When breakfast is over, I hand stunning tall beer-drinking tree-pissing passed out man his pricey Italian loafers. He sniffs them, then puts them on his feet. He says, "you're wonderful. I'd like to see you again." I smile politely. He rises and leans to kiss me, dropping his car keys. I stoop (read: swoop) quickly to retrieve them for him. He smiles. His teeth are clean.
As he is leaving, he says, "bye ... uh," and I fill in the name he whispered last night in the car. He smiles again, "of course," and leaves.
If he can find his car and the highway, he will probably be alright. It was Peet's coffee, after all, that I served this morning. I doubt, however, he will remember what happened last night, who I am or where I live. He will probably think he scored and can forget it all, anyway. I enter the bathroom, throw out the toothbrush and spray the toilet and surrounding floor tile with chlorine cleanser.
Later, I get online and look for another date. I set the parameters for: short, pudgy, average-looking men. Brown or blue eyes.