There are plenty of reasons to hate dating. It is time-consuming, expensive, and most of the time proves to be fruitless. My biggest fear about dating is the first disappointment—whether it's disappointment in my date or theirs in me—typically it's the latter.
Like most of us, I've had my share of horrendous dates. Few are so scarring that you remember them years after the fact. My worst one started out so good and went downhill so fast that it felt like a bad dream. It was like I was watching some sitcom and the poor schmuck dating is all giddy with hope and then the date says or does something so heinous that it comes crashing to a halt.
I met Noah at a coffee shop while I was waiting for an interview to start. I arrived too early and didn't want to be rude so I decided to kill time with a tea. I walked into a Starbucks and was waiting in a long line when Noah walked in behind me. It began with an off-hand comment about how the lines here are always long. It ended with him buying my tea and sitting at a table with me. He was clearly interested in more and I was completely in shock. I'm not the kind of beauty that often gets hit on in public and certainly not in daylight. Before I had to go to my interview he asked me for my phone number. I wrote it down on a napkin for him, with "Joshua" above it. I don't know why I wrote "Joshua" instead of "Josh". I blame never being asked for my phone number before for not knowing how to handle the situation.
The very next day, Noah called. I almost thought it was a prank. A handsome, gentleman caller was calling ME the DAY AFTER meeting. No 3-day rule or game playing or googling me and finding out that I write a stupid blog and am practically a mental patient. He even wanted to see me again after our phone conversation (I give TERRIBLE phone and am incredibly awkward) which went like this:
Noah: Hi, it's Noah from Starbucks yesterday. How did your interview go?
Me: Is this a prank call? I swear to God if you're one of my asshole friends pretending to be the coffee shop guy I'll hunt you down, slit your throat, and shit down your neck.
Noah: Excuse me?
Me: It's really the coffee shop guy?
Noah: Yes. It's Noah. I was wondering if you'd like to do dinner sometime and what your availability—
Me: YES!
Noah: Okay... that's good... and when are you free?
Me: ANYTIME! I mean... I don't have that job yet so my schedule is pretty open. I mean except for Tuesday night because I have to watch the West Wing and Gilmore Girls... but I mean I could always tape it if it was important. I still have a vcr. Tivo is kind of expensive and I hate Comcast so I try to limit their services. Aren't they the worst? I mean my internet always stops working and when you call them they're all like 'We can come next Friday between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m.' and I'm all like 'You're damn lucky I don't have a job or I'd be so pissed off right now.'
Noah: Yeah... Comcast is the worst... so what kind of food do you like?
Me: LOBSTER! I'm just kidding. Isn't that what the person getting the free meal is supposed to ask for? I was only kidding. Not that I don't like lobster. It's good. Uh... I'm sorry, I'm just nervous. I don't get many phone calls from strangers. Not strangers! I mean like strange guys... guys that ask me out.
Noah: Do you like French cuisine?
Me: I'm not sure. I've never had it. When I was younger there was this bully who used to give me a 'french crépe' which consisted of him wrapping his fist in a plastic bag and trying to get me to eat it at recess. But I'm guessing that doesn't count?
Noah: Do you like French wines?
Me: I'm not sure if I've ever had one. Most of the wine I've drank have been out of a jug that says 'Paisano' or 'Riunite'.
Noah: Ok. Why don't I introduce you to French then? I think you'll like it if you enjoyed that tea yesterday.
Me: You remembered what I was drinking? You're really nice.
Noah: You must know how attractive you are.
Me: I... You're... Thank you.
Noah: So how does tomorrow night sound for dinner? I'll call you beforehand with the address and time once I make a reservation.
Me: That sounds great. Thanks Noah. I'm really glad you called.
Noah: Me too. I'll see you tomorrow cutie.
I was elated the rest of the night and the following day. I called everyone I ever knew and told them all about my upcoming date and how some handsome stranger thought I was a "cutie." Before I'd even had my first date with Noah, my friends and family were sick of him.
Panic set in about 2 hours before the allotted date time. I didn't know what to wear. He'd seen me in my only interview outfit the other day. Anything else I put on just made me look homeless and pale. I settled on my best cardigan with funky houndstooth pants. On my train ride over to the french bistro, I heard another passenger whisper "70's porn star" to her friend while looking at me.
When I arrived Noah was already in the lobby, looking incredibly dapper in a suit jacket with a new haircut and trimmed beard. I gave him a big hug, a kiss on the cheek, and he took my arm and ushered me to our table. He helped me take off my jacket and even pulled out my chair for me. I thought I might faint. Guys did that in the movies for glamorous women, guys didn't do nice stuff like that for other guys—let alone a disheveled looking ragamuffin.
Noah ordered a bottle of wine for us, helped me translate the fancy menu, and then ordered for us. The waitress returned with a beautiful bottle of wine, poured us both a glass, and we toasted to our chance encounter. We talked for a few minutes and he even seemed to enjoy my stupid sense of humor. In the beautiful restaurant with shimmering candles and a single chandelier providing the only lighting, the scene took on a magical quality. I was completely smitten and swooning when he looked up from his glass and asked:
"So... where do you go to Temple?"
Confused, but not thinking anything of it, I replied "I don't go to any temples."
"Oh." He said, "So you're a bad Jew?"
"No." I replied. "I'm a no Jew."
"You're not Jewish at all?" He asked, incredulous.
"No... Why would you think that?" I asked.
He hesitated, unsure of his words. I knew something awful and insidious was coming but I wasn't prepared for exactly what it was.
"Well... your name for one thing... it's a very Jewish name."
"It's a biblical name." I said non-chalantly. "Not specifically Jewish. My parents aren't religious at all. They just liked the name."
He continued. "And... well... to be honest... with a nose like that, I just assumed..."
"A nose like what?" I said much more shrilly than I'd hoped.
"It's just... it's a very Jewish nose..." He said sheepishly. "Anyways, Judaism plays an important part in my life. I only date Jewish boys... I'm sorry if I've misled you."
"Oh." I said, still in shock. "Well I'm sorry if I've misled YOU with my giant, hideous nose!"
"It's my fault." He said blushing slightly. "I shouldn't have assumed... I can't believe I'm the first person to tell you this though..."
"Well you ARE the first person to tell me this." I huffed.
"Maybe we should call it a night. Can I get you a cab?" He asked.
"No thanks. my nose might not fit in the backseat."
The long train ride home I spent touching my face, feeling around my nose, closing my eyes and pretending to be blind, learning my own face strictly through its contour. It didn't seem particularly big to me, but the more I touched it, the more gargantuan and grotesque it felt on my face. Other passengers started to look at the ill-dressed boy fondling his own face as silent tears trickled down.
When I got home, my roommate asked me what happened and why I was home before eight o'clock. I ignored her and went straight to the bathroom mirror. I stared at my hideous, ruinous, date-crushing, false-heritage nose. I pictured a plastic surgeon cutting into it to remove some cartilage.
"I'm sorry Joshua, I don't have a knife big enough for this job. And we may have to remove the excess cartilage in installments. I've never seen anything like this."
My earlier excitement about my date had completely betrayed me. Before bed I was flooded with phone calls, all wondering how my perfect date had gone and when was the wedding? Several times I had to recount the story of my mammoth nose and how appallingly bad the evening had gone.
To this day, I don't pass a mirror without looking at my nose in profile—a twisted Pinocchio look-alike. I also don't flirt with any strange men without first introducing myself by saying "Hello. My name is Josh. I'm agnostic. Nice to meet you."
