Money Can't Buy Me Love

The date I am about to describe to you almost makes me uncomfortable just writing about it so I hope you can appreciate JUST how uncomfortable it was to experience it live and in color.

I was set up with a man who we will call "Hefner" as this was the name given by the very observant homeless man who walked us from the restaurant to the car. In 3 short blocks this severely intoxicated man was able to accurately peg my date's personality.

We had agreed to meet outside his posh downtown condo and walk 3 blocks to a near by wine bar. As I pull up in my modest, fuel efficient vehicle I see a young man in a dapper suit waiting on the street corner. As he approaches to greet me I take note of his Michael Buble shuffle - fit for a dance floor - not a street corner. He greets me with a wink and a "Good evening Doll". I immediately begin to disengage. Doll? When did I become your Doll? Between having never met you and shaking your hand? He then puts out his arm inviting me to grab his and stroll merrily towards the restaurant. I hesitate, link arms awkwardly for 37 seconds then make up an excuse to release my arm. I have an itch - the beginning of the rash he was about to give me perhaps?

By the time we reach the restaurant I am well versed in JUST how important he is. After all, he is a wildly successful energy trader who owns 7 houses. As we are getting seated, he puts in a request to have the lights dimmed. I can feel the rash developing. We sit down and take a glance at the menu. Hoping this would be a one glass wonder, I assertively state I will only have a glass of wine. He tells the server we will have a bottle, asks for his suggestion and then orders the opposite. When the wine arrives, he arrogantly swirls it around, sniffs and analyzes and declares he is not quite satisfied but will keep the bottle. He winks again and declares he would like to make a toast "To the beginning of a wonderful blind date". I vomit and then cheers this cheese ball.

"Hefner" made great attempts at getting to know me, but unfortunately every question he asked he was just so eager to answer for himself that there was little room to interrupt. I begin to give him one word answers as that's all I could squeeze in. He acknowledges this and says (wink) "I am sorry, its not my intention to interrupt you, I am not that type of guy. I mean look at me, I wear great suits to work everyday and may be very successful but I am a very laid back, considerate guy." Are you? At this point, I tried very hard to manifest the chandelier above my head to fall down and violently take my life. It didn't budge so I skip out to the washroom. Why I didn't just keep walking is beyond me. I went back for more!

I returned to the table and decided I was going to treat the situation similarly to the way you would when encountering a bear in the wild. I decided to disengage entirely and play dead. Things took a turn for the worse as this only enticed him to try harder. As we were sitting there in silence with nothing but a terrible techno song pounding in the background he says "I just love this jam!". Jam, as in song? Followed by "Speaking of jam, what is your favorite kind?". I give him one word back, "Strawberry" I say. He sneaks out to the bathroom. While he is away the server approaches with a tray of mini strawberry jams. He looks at me with pity, shrugs his shoulders and walks away. When "Hefner" returns he winks again and tells me that he made special arrangements to get me "all the strawberries in the house" and that he "Ok'd it to have them slipped in my purse before we leave." I acknowledge his odd effort and decline the offer to steal 7 jars of jam from a classy establishment. He also proposed we make arrangements to have our table, yes WHOLE table, moved outside to the court yard so we could "enjoy our wine under the moon light". Oh dear god. Fear not, I declined. With the double rejection, he begins to try harder!

He starts to ask me about my family and quickly cuts me off to, of course, tell me about his. He decides he'd like to "sing me a few lines of a special song". I grip my seat and tell him he should not do that. I get fairly adamant about it but nothing stops this tenor. Yes folks, he began to sing "Young at heart" at the table, loud enough for our neighbours to hear. He says "Its the only accurate way to describe my parents" and then requests that we toast his mother and father. WTF?! I don't even know your last name let alone your mother and father. I declare that it is time for me to go. He takes out his money clip, waves his credit card in the air to get our poor servers attention, pushes his chair back and stands up. I am hoping he is about to declare the obvious (TERRIBLE MATCH) but no, he is a getting up to ask me to dance -in the middle of a crowded restaurant - with techno music playing in the background. Thank you Ryan Gossling, but this is not the Notebook. This is actually the worst date of my life, so please, please sit down. I got up and walked past him and hit the ladies room again. I give myself a pep talk and reminded myself that there are only a few more minutes left of this torture.

As we are leaving the restaurant a lovely old man named Clayton Wolf approached us. He was missing 97% of his teeth and slurred the majority of his words but managed to create dialogue. This dialogue being the best conversation I had all night. As "Hefner" tried to encourage the bum to leave us, I encouraged him to stay for the 3 block walk. And so he did. Mid way he stopped, swayed, turned to me and said "Who is this idiot? Hugh Hefner??" and points to the 'dapper' man beside me. I crack up and look around me for cameras. I thank "Hefner" for the glass of wine and bid him farewell, shake Clayton's hand and thank HIM for an enjoyable date.

I hop into my car and begin to pull out when Clayton bangs on my window. Expecting him to ask for some change, he simply looks at me with his glossy, tired eyes, he winks and says "Your platinum babe".