Blurry girl, Date #7

From time to time one of these unanswered intro letters results in a date.  Here is the recap of one date.

She was some flavor of Latin. Her profile pictures were out of focus. I thought she was being artistic. Nope. In real life she was blurry. I wasn’t drunk when we met. Was it an advanced make-up application that put her into soft focus or did the 109 degree temperature send blinding sweat into my eyes? Irrelevant. We met and stumbled for the forced hug and peck on cheek.

We agreed to meet in front of some Mexican restaurant bar place. It was painted a violent yellow that made the allure of cocaine understandable.

“For dinner or drinks?” asked the hostess. My date looked confused. I didn’t care what the answer was. I wanted to sit down, have one drink, suffer some strained conversation and go home.

“Yes.” she said. Yes the default answer when someone asks you a question not in your native tongue. Yes, not in the affirmative, but yes in give me a hint and I’ll figure out what you asked.

“OK,” I said and we were seated at a table. The next table over was occupied by two women. One of them I knew in the biblical sense. Thankfully she was buried behind three empty margarita glasses and couldn’t see me. Hell she couldn’t see anything. Maybe I’d become infected with the blurry.

“Are you going to eat?” asked my date.

“What? No. You?”

She shook her head. I took us to the bar, placed her in the corner and ordered two beers. Waiting for the beers I glanced at her to see if she had gained focus. If anything she had become more blurred. Was this really happening or had my life become one long hallucination.

The beers didn’t help the conversation move along. The room was too loud and she was too quiet.

“This sucks. Lets go somewhere else.” I had to get out of this place. The screaming yellow walls were like kittens claws to the eyeballs.

She smiled and said she knew a place. The place she knew was perfect. It was brown, woody and the air had a subtle grease flavor. The best part were the empty stools at the bar.

More beer and our conversation became loosened. What we talked about is irrelevant and unremarkable. Family, work, travel, the typical filler of first dates. More alcohol and I thought about having sex with the blurry girl. She mentioned that her 19 year old “nephew” was staying with her and this didn’t deter my thoughts of sex.

I excused myself and went to the men’s room. A lot of mens rooms do not have mirrors and for good reason. After six beers and shot of whiskey you should not be allowed to look at yourself. I saw the monster in the mirror and slapped him. What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t sleep with a blurry girl. Dammit man she has a 19 year old kid. Get your shit together, end the date, go home and watch some porn.

I returned to the bar. She looked at me and her face registered my changed attitude.

“I guess we should call it a night,” she said. Yes. And we did. The next morning she made me breakfast. She was still blurry.

There was no second date. Neither of us saw any need for it.

About Author: anthony

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