(Cole):

So I decided to go on a second date with the Giant.  I figured why not?  He may be a little intense for my taste, but we just had so much in common and such similar interests that I figured I owed it to myself to go out with him again.  Besides, I was in control of the situation and I knew I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to do and if for some reason I just didn’t feel right I could always leave.

 

It was a Saturday night.  I knew he had to work, so I was going to meet him at the wine bar he manages (in addition to planning the menu, the wine list, and other typical sommelier duties), have a glass of wine and a snack, listen to the band, and chat with him for a bit, and then he was going to give me the keys to his apartment while he closed up shop and we were going to drink some wine and watch a movie as soon as he got home. 

I wouldn’t typically go to a man’s house on a second date, but his work schedule is pretty intense and I was willing to work with him.  Also, he is very well known in the community, so I felt pretty certain that he wasn’t going to hack me up into tiny pieces and flush me down the toilet.  That and I gave Marge his number so she would know who to call if I went missing, and what number to give to the police. 

I put on a nice little black dress, heels, threw a Pashmina over my shoulders and headed to Morro Bay.  When I got to the wine bar, it was packed, and the band was already playing.  I looked around for the Giant, who would obviously stand out at that height, but he was nowhere to be found.  Assuming that he was either in the kitchen or the bathroom I slid my way over to the bar to order a glass of wine from the woman he had introduced me to the other day when he took me there for a glass of wine.  She recognized me immediately and said hello.  I smiled and asked her how she was doing and she said not great because it was so busy.  I asked her where the Giant was.  She said he left because he wasn’t feeling well.  I was simultaneously thinking “did he seriously just stand me up?”, “why in the hell didn’t he call me and tell me?”, and “oh shit, did he take work off because he’s planned some sort of surprise?”. 

I didn’t automatically get pissed because I didn’t know the situation, so I remained calm and asked the woman if she wanted me to stay and help her because without the Giant, she was the only one there and she was seriously swamped!  She hesitated for a moment.  I think she really wanted me to stay, but found it somehow inappropriate or something.  She told me she would be fine and that I should stay for a glass of wine, but I didn’t want to burden her.  Plus it was really crowded and I didn’t want to sit there all alone, and I wanted to know what in the fuck was going on with the giant.     

As soon as I stepped out onto the pavement I whipped my phone out and called the Giant.  It rang and rang and then went to voicemail.  I didn’t leave a message.  I got in my car and drove to his apartment. 

When I pulled up, his car was in the driveway.  I parked next to his Volvo SUV and tapped lightly on the front door.  No answer.  I assumed he was home because his car was in the driveway and the light was on, but one should never assume.  I rang the doorbell but I’m not sure if it worked or not.  I didn’t hear it anyway.  At this point I’m starting to get a little pissed.  Is this the kind of guy he is?  He just blows off work and dates with the woman he wants to “have his baby and spend the rest of his life with”? 

I knock very loudly on the front door, all knuckles.  If the neighbors were sleeping I most certainly woke them.  I hear a commotion.  The door flies open and he’s standing their in an un-tucked, wrinkled long sleeved, button up shirt, slacks, no shoes, and some sort of fancy dress hat that I have no idea what it’s called and I don’t feel like explaining it.  Just know that it wasn’t a top hat.  More like a golf hat, I guess… 

Before I really have time to process it all he whisks me inside and starts mumbling “oh my god, oh my god, I fell asleep.  Come in!  Come in!  Oh my god you look amazing” etc…

I was very confused, as he’s jabbering gibberish, looking around for his shoes.  I find his shoes for him.  He can’t seem to make up his mind if he wants to leave or continue talking to me.  He’s out the door, then he’s back inside, then he’s smoking a cigarette on the back patio as I’m sort of following him, trying to make sense of his words and gesticulations. 

Finally he says “Oh my god, the band is already playing!” and I’m thinking ‘duh, I already told you that’, and he asks if I want to come with him as we had planned.  At this point, I don’t really know what to think, but I didn’t feel like going back to that crowded bar, so I told him I would just chill out for a while and maybe walk down later when it got less crowded.  He presents me with a bottle of wine, tells me to make myself at home and he’s out the door, but not before asking me if I wanted to give him a ride, which I declined, and told him to tuck in his shirt because he looked a mess. 

Now, before I came down we had discussed what I might do while he was closing (I made sure he had a bottle of wine waiting for me).  He said I could make a snack, drink wine, watch a movie…  Basically, whatever I wanted.  Cool.  Free reign to snoop around for something scary if I feel like it!    

So, first thing’s first, I go to open the wine.  It was a twist off (which is not a bad a thing and a lot of wineries are doing that these days instead of a cork).  It was a zinfandel that he said he really enjoyed.  I went to twist the top off and it just came right off.  There was no resistance, and it didn’t make that snapping sound a bottle typically makes when you twist its top off.  The bottle had already been opened, although it was full.  I figured maybe he had twisted if off for me before he ran out the door.  I take a whiff of the bottle.  ICK!  Not bad wine ‘ick’, this wine had been opened too long and is now no good to drink ‘ick’. 

As I am wondering why in the hell a certified sommelier would give me a corked bottle of wine I look around for another bottle.  Not a bottle in sight.  So then I think, ‘ok, maybe I’m wrong and it just needs to breathe for a moment’, so I pour a little in a glass and go outside to smoke a cigarette.  I tell myself that obviously he couldn’t have known it had already been opened.  Maybe he had cracked it the other day and then decided to drink something else and he forgot.  Or maybe he bought it at the store and someone else had cracked it before he bought it.  I really didn’t know, but I figured he could not possibly have known that it was corked. 

Once I finish my cigarette, I go inside to see what’s on TV.  No cable, no satellite…

I scope out his movie selection.  American Pie and the Bounty Hunter.  Hmmmmmmmmm.  I stuck in the Bounty Hunter because I have never seen it before and I go over to see if the wine ‘opened up’.  It didn’t, because corked wine doesn’t open up.  It just stays bad and continues to get worse until it becomes vinegar.

I go to the refrigerator to see what I can make myself to eat.  Ummmmmmmmmm, unless I wanted make myself a gourmet plate of pickles and string cheese drizzled with a French’s mustard reduction sauce there wasn’t a thing left to work with.  So much for making myself a delicious snack.  And just the other day, as I was salivating for Burrata Mozzarella cheese, he said he had some.  I guess he ate it…

          

I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable, not to mention confused.  What is this guy’s deal?  I would think that someone who has proposed marriage several times would be excited for his second date with his future (ex)wife (LMAO!).  So excited that he wouldn’t oversleep, leave a bottle of corked wine, an empty refrigerator, and no movies, let alone a good one that we could watch together once he closed up shop and came back from work.  I could feel the anxiety coming on.  I wanted to text Marge but she was on a date and I didn’t want to disturb her.  Also, I wasn’t sure if I was overreacting, or being completely rational. 

I turned the movie on and tried to lose myself in it.  I even went back over to the glass of wine for one last taste, just to be sure.  Yep.  Very gross.  I had brought an emergency flask of Glenlivet 12 year (ok, it’s not an emergency stash, I take it with me basically everywhere I go, but you know, for emergencies only…) and a part of me really wanted to dip into it to calm my anxiety, but I didn’t want to drink because I was still very uncomfortable and considering bolting.  (I have a thing about drinking and driving.  I always have.  But I take it to an extreme in that if I have one beer or one glass of wine I won’t want to drive for like, three hours.)

I paused the movie and went outside to smoke another cigarette.  I played solitaire to distract the anxiety that was beginning to consume me.  I could hear the scotch calling my name from my purse but I was beginning to feel so wrong about the entire situation.  What in the hell was I even doing there, waiting for a guy in his apartment while he worked, on what would have only been our second date?  It was just too comfortable, too familiar.  We hadn’t been on ten dates, just one, so why was I allowing myself to settle for the kind of date you should only have once you’ve had a few sleepovers and you get that butterflies in your stomach kind of feeling when you get a text or a phone call from this person? 

I stubbed out my cigarette and went back inside.  I told myself I was overreacting and that everything was fine.  I am a big girl, and I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.  On paper, the guy really was perfect for me, so what was I freaking out about? 

 

I decided to go into the bathroom, take a piss, and take a look in the mirror, and decide what in the hell was wrong with me.  So a bunch of minor little things went wrong?  Maybe I was I overreacting.  So the apartment was pretty messy?  I’m hardly the world’s best housekeeper, and the man works insane hours, plus the fact that he’s a man in general.  Most bachelors I know don’t even notice how disgusting their dwellings are, nor would they care if they did know.  Sometimes I need to just take a step back and breathe in order to see through the fog…  

I go to the guest bathroom to take a piss.  No need to go to the master bathroom, right?  Thankfully I look before pulling down my pants and relieving myself:  No toilet paper.  I go into the master to see if there is any in there, and what do I find but a disgusting toilet thoroughly spackled with diarrhea splatter!

That was the last straw.  I was the fuck out of there!  It brought to mind a meme Marge had once posted on facebook.  It read something like “no one cleans house faster than a man expecting to get laid”.  I don’t know if he was expecting to get laid or not, but I have no doubt he wouldn’t have objected to it, had I offered. 

It was just too much.  One of the myriad little things I could have handled, but all added up like that, well, it was just insulting!  He may have wanted me to be his wife, but it’s one thing to want a wife, and quite another to treat someone like they already are your wife.  I didn’t even leave a note (which I always do.  I never leave the house without a few cute little pieces of stationary and envelopes.  I have a slight stationary obsession, and lingerie obsession, and this weird obsession with tiny golf pencils.  Marge understands completely.  One year she got me this amazing little stationary box by this artist we both totally love, and it was filled with perfectly sharpened, tiny golf pencils.  Ok, I’m getting off track…), I just left.  I couldn’t wait to get home, get into comfy pajamas, lay on the couch with my puppy, and talk to Marge about her date, and my disaster. 

The next day I texted him this:

     Hi.  I’m really sorry for bailing like that, but I just didn’t feel right sitting alone in your apartment waiting for you on a second “date”.  Not to sound childish or anything, but I think the “courting” phase should last longer than one date or just a few hours.  I do like you, but this is moving a little fast for me and FYI, not to be mean or anything, and I know you are super busy, but you could have at least cleaned your toilet.  I hope you can understand where I’m coming from.”

He said he understood completely and then blamed the filth on friends.  Lame.  I totally would have continued dating him.  Like I said, on paper, he is awesome!  He just needs to work on his seduction skills.  I’m not into poo splatter, corked wine, empty refrigerators, emaciated (and terrible) movie selections, filthy apartments, or being treated like an old ball and chain so early into a “relationship”. 

He is still chasing me.  If he wasn’t so overly-eager and intense, I would consider dating him, but this is just too much!  Here are a few texts he has sent me, added as examples of why he is scaring me away as apposed reeling me in…

“What do I do?  I finally found someone after so many years…  Do I spill my guts?  Pretend I do not care?  Or simply say I want a life with you?  Don’t be scared Fritzy!  Give us…  Give this a chance…  If I am too honest and forthright… Then tell me!  I don’t want to be alone anymore!  I will do whatever it takes…  Just tell me what you need?”

And:

“I miss you dearly Fritzy… And I am not afraid to say!  Don’t pass me by…  I love you in the strangest way!”

I really don’t mean to sound ungrateful that someone would be so infatuated with me after only one and half (sort of) dates, but it really isn’t flattering.  To me, he just sounds desperate.  In reality, I could have been anyone.  He just wants someone to marry and take care of.  I don’t want to be married or taken care of!  I can take care of myself.  We aren’t just on separate pages, we’re in separate novels, on separate subjects, in separate sections of the library, and we aren’t even written in the same language…