Pool Boy

Neither Pool Boy nor myself wants to tell you about our date.

I mean, why traumatize the children? Just moments ago as I was about to place this post, the power went out. Was it a sign? Should I just leave it alone?

A compromise. Here is the summary of our date in tiny tiny print to make it more difficult to read. You have to want it...and I know you do. Pool Boy has a fan base.

I was driving down the road and noticed him walking down the street. He saw me too. That's when I knew. That's how long it took. The first glance, a mere fraction of a second. I stopped in the middle of the road. He caught up with me and helped me find a parking space. We walked to the restaurant together.

He mentioned it first, that I was having a wardrobe malfunction. Ok. He wasn't REALLY talking about me. He was just making a random remark. But it WAS happening to me.

I had worn a little shirt. One of those halter cross-over-in-the-front numbers that never works unless you pin it.

I didn't pin it. I had tried, mind you. But it was made of silk and the pin showed. I thought with a few slight posture modifications, I could pull it off.

He didn't notice, but every man who walked past us as did and was staring at my boobs which kept slipping out, just slightly, despite my constant grabbing at the shirt, trying to re-arrange "things" so that it would fall properly.

I became obsessed with it. I'm not even sure I heard a word he said because I was so intently focused on the shirt. (I heard you Pool Boy. I just said that for dramatic affect.) All I was thinking was, "must keep boobs from popping out. Must keep boobs from...". I had limited success. He didn't pretend to notice.

He did however, kindly notice/remark that I did not look like I was 100 years old. (I had dyed my hair brown that day. Probably shouldn't have.) I change my hair color as frequently as the wind changes.)

The date reminded me of my date with cute surfer dude with the addition of awkward silences and less eye contact.

No harm, no foul. The man was charming. He's a good man. I already knew that. He's better off with a Fancy Nancy who has mutliple children from different husbands, fibromyalgia and lives on disabililty. She doesn't have to work. Marrying men is her career. She's a "pro". I am ( at best) an aspiring amateur.

The conversation did not flow. It got better after the second martini but never left the ground. Our table was precisely 2 inches from the table next to us so I just started talking to them instead. I wasn't trying to be rude. They were an adorable couple. I actually panicked for a minute because I thought the woman's husband was a man, Dirk, that I used to live with. Of course, he was about the same age my Dirk was when we lived together. Which was 16 years ago. I stared at him, wondering, OMG is that HIM? Did he dye his hair brown today TOO?

The service was rushed. After 30 seconds the manager asked"how is everything?". 30 seconds later our drinks arrived. After two sips down came the entree. I had literally just placed my fork into my fish and waiter was back "how is everything?". "Um, don't know yet", I replied. The service irritated Pool Boy and he said something about it, which I liked about him.

I think that eating with a stranger is difficult. I'd rather"do" something. Walk on the beach, go bowling (ok. Not bowling) just something active. Making polite conversation with a stranger, trapped in my chair, is not my forte. I need to move. Further, eating for me on a first date is a fiasco. My knife and fork might as well be sticks. I need a bib. I once had a "first date" wherein we did use chopsticks. My date wore a white shirt. By the end of the date it was a modern art piece compliments of the 30 items that fell into my soy sauce and splashed on him. Hee Hee. (Secretly I love this about me.)

Every woman knows within seconds if a date is going to work. You can see it in the eyes of your date. It boils down to whether or not he finds you attractive.

That's the reality of it. There is nothing you can do... but smile. I'm not saying that my feelings regarding the matter were any different. I'm just saying, that is where it starts. After the date (Pool Boy was literally driving 100 miles an hour up the PCH to place distance between us), despite everthing...I missed the Vern.( I missed feeling loved.) The next day, I missed evil surfer dude who called me three times on my way to meet Pool Boy. I didn't answer. (But I missed feeling pursued.)

I like Pool Boy. We will be blog buddies.

I have another date in 5 minutes. But I'm loading up the truck and going on a road trip. I have a rumble with a 9 year old boy with a mohawk in Denver to get to. And some electric guitar playing with an 11 year old followed by some basketball with a 12 year old.

Younger men? Okay.

BONUS

Charmaine's Incredible, Simply Amazing Stain Removal System
As you may have learned from the post above, I spill alot. I spill on myself AND on other people. In college, I was a cocktail waitress. I once spilled an entire tray with 10 beers right on a mans head. (No, I'm not extraordinarily tall. He was sitting down.) "My spills" she remarked with pride, "are legendary".

Out of necessity I have learned how to remove a stain.

Get some hot water in a bowl. Add a 1/4 cup of "White King" Water Softener. Now add a 1/4 cup of BORAX.

That's it. Place whatever is stained in the solution and let it sit there for a bit. Even red wine that's baked in (I don't know what that means either) will come out. Go ahead. Try it. You'll see. Play around with the measurements until it works.

You're gonna thank me.