REVISITED: Candy paint and bad dates…

Ok, so maybe I’ll just revist them.  That’s ok. So many of you responded positively to this post that I feel certain that you’ll be ok with seeing it onemogain…

Several years ago, I met this guy at a sorority convention. He’s my frat brother and so he and many other bruhs were in attendance. We exchanged numbers and commenced a long-distance flirtation. He lived in Virginia. I live in Texas. We had many a late-night convo. He made wake-up calls when I had to be up early the next morning. I sent him those cute “I’m thinking about you” texts in the middle of the day. We commiserated over how our friends made fun of our bougie tendencies. We gave each other nicknames. I wasn’t in love, but I liked him real hard.
The day finally came that I went to visit my BFF in D.C. - just 3 short hours from where he lived.  Joy! We immediately made plans to meet up for at least one night of my stay. I spent hours packing the exact right outfit. I spent extra money getting my sexy on.  I was whipped, dipped and flipped. Waxed, exfoliated, and manicured. Fresh dressed like a million bucks. #yougetthepoint
For brevity’s sake, I’ll leave out many of the lesser details. But the basics go like this.

He came straight from work and picked me up in what looked eerily similar to the Bonneville my daddy had in 1983. To be completely accurate, I should say that it resembled our old family car in shape alone. In color, however, it diverged wildly because it was teal. With sparkles. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t one of the standard offerings. Couple of other things I doubt came with the original model : power windows and locks, TVs (yes, plural) and spinning rims.
I. Just. Couldn’t.  So, I suggested that we park and walk to one of the restaurants in the neighborhood.We were seated for dinner and it was a complete disaster. A couple of conversational highlights:

• “You look like you’re going on a job interview” (in reference to my outfit)
• “My friends call me bougie because I’m the only one in my family who’s never been to jail.” (You ain’t supposed to- low expectation having muthafcuker!)
• “Where the forks at?” (Said while actually holding the silverware wrapped in the linen napkin)

To say that the young Jai de Vivre fell for an okey doke is an understatement .  Later, I tried and tried to figure out how I could have missed the red flags that MUST have been there.  Like, I was certain that he didn’t have those beads on the ends of his cornrows when I met him.  And, he must have used his work voice on the phone. And really, how could I know that he wears his gold boots to work?!

I ordered a salad, ate quickly and left early. He walked me back to my friend’s complex where his car was parked. I felt relief as I pictured myself safely ensconced back in her apartment, calling all my homegirls for the post-date wrap-up. With two or three minutes left in the game, he went for the hug. And abruptly pulled back.

Did he change his mind?

Realize that I just wasn’t feeling it?

Nope, he needed to take off his gun.

His.

Gun.

And really, how else could you end such a ridiculous evening?

My story was worth it, because after my friends died, came back to life and then died again, laughing at my story and then spent an hour GOING IN on me and my terrible love life, I learned a leasson. About love, first impressions and candy paint…

I showed you mine. Tell me yours.  Share your bad date experiences and what pointless/meaningful thing you learned.

~Jai de Vivre