Three Blind Dates and a Wedding

I was so very sick of dating. Every silver lining had a dark cloud within, casting shadows across the timeline of my life. I tried so many times, even getting married once, only to have him cheat on me repeatedly. I ditched him, alone, in New York City, on his birthday. Looking back on that day, I feel sadness but a fantastic sense of karmic intervention. Then guilt sets in for feeling that last part.

My friends hated seeing me single, so they were always trying to set me up on dates. As it turns out, they did not have a clue what I needed or wanted. Each date was a horrifying kick in the tail, which I can only assume was karma getting me back for my joy at leaving my husband on his birthday. Well, that’s life, I suppose.

Blind Date Number One: The Pool Shark

My friend Kelly was a social butterfly. She was always meeting new people and befriending them. She was a total Chatty Cathy, too. There would be times during phone calls I would set the phone down and do other things, knowing she would never notice my disappearance. One day, she called me up excited about some guy she had met.

“Oh my God, Katie! I just met the greatest guy! He’s perfect for you! You have to call him!” she chattered over the line.

I heaved a sigh jumping into the deep end. “Oh, really?”

“Yes! He’s from your hometown. He’s a deputy sheriff, and he plays pool just like you! Plus, he’s adorable! Hot body, sweet smile, just too cute for words! You just have to call him and talk to him! You’re going to love him!” she said, rapid fire.

“Okay, I’ll call him. Number, please?” I said, just trying to get her off my back. She gave me his number and left me in shock as she quickly disengaged from the conversation.

“Call him now!” she shouted. “He’s waiting for you to call him. His name is Chris. Call me back after you talk to him. Bye!” and she was gone, leaving me a bit breathless.

Ugh, I said to myself. Do I really want to do this? For the most part, Kelly had decent taste in men’s physical attributes, but she always did most of the talking, so she rarely knew who they really were. It was hit or miss, to tell the truth. Knowing she would never leave me alone, I dialed his number.

“Hello,” came from the other end of the line.

“Hi, Chris?” I asked.

“Katie? Hi there! Kelly said you’d be calling. Several times,” he said, chuckling. His voice was a nice baritone and sounded pleasant.

“Yeah, she’s a pistol that one,” I said, laughing at his commentary on Kelly’s inability to stop talking.

We chatted for a while about pool and our hometown and all sorts of things. He was a good conversationalist, and we were on the phone for over an hour. We set up a date for that Friday.

Friday night rolled around, and that sweet, chatty individual was nowhere in sight. We went to dinner. He did not hold the door. He refused to answer the hostess when asked “how many?” for our table. He ordered a strawberry daiquiri. I ordered my standard merlot. And then another. We went to play pool, something he professed to be quite good at. I beat him easily as he threw every shot. There was no chatting, no conversation, nothing. He was a totally different person than the cutie on the phone. I finally pled guilty to “not feeling well.” He took me home, and that was the end of that.

Blind Date Number Two: The Trekkie

My sister-in-law, Lori, set me up on my second blind date. She had met this guy, and, low and behold, we had a lot in common. He was into sci-fi and was this “super neat guy.” He loved Star Trek, and I was very much a Trekkie. To meet a fellow freak and have some good times sounded great. Right.

We met at a party at Lori’s place and chatted for a bit.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked me, seeing my glass empty.

“Yes, thank you! Merlot, please?”

He brought back a merlot and some crazy fruity thing for himself.

As it turns out, the date should have been with his sister. She was the one I had so much in common with. Our date was very short, and I never saw him again. When I talked to Lori about it, she was surprised.

“I thought you two would get along great because his sister is just like you!” Really?

“What’s her number?”

Blind Date Number Three: The Warning Bell

My third blind date was the worst, and I mean the absolute worst. My friend Annie set me up with him. He was cute and great on the phone, at least the first time around. The second phone call was a bit weird.

“So, I went to Dillard’s the other day to buy some new clothes for our date. All I have are work clothes ‘cause I don’t really date. I had to get the sales lady to help me, ‘cause I have no idea what to wear. Do you like blue?” Warning bell one. A thirty-year-old man who cannot pick out his own clothes. Okay.

“After she helped me, we talked about cologne. I had no idea what to do, so she walked with me to the cologne counter and helped me pick out a nice one. It’s Drakkar. I hope you like it. I’m so nervous.” Warning bell two. I really did not need to know the inner workings of a man that insecure. Seriously. Don’t you have a mother? He did, by the way and an older brother. Sigh.

On the day of our date, I had to work. It was a Saturday, and I had a weekend side hustle for extra cash. While I was working, he called me three times. Warning bell three. Once I was done with work, I called him back.

“Hey,” I said when he answered the phone before it had finished the first ring. “What’s up?” I asked.

“Are we still on for tonight? I mean, you didn’t answer your phone. I was worried.” He sounded alarmed. I sighed into the phone. This was getting a bit crazy.

“Of course we’re still on. I had to work today. I told you that the other night.”

“Oh, well, okay. I was just checking, and you didn’t answer your phone. I guess I’ll see you at six.” Warning bell four.

“Sounds great,” mild sarcasm. “See you then.” I went home and got ready.

When he picked me up at six, he was dressed very nicely—go Dillard’s!—and was doused in Drakkar. Oh, boy, I thought. He came in for a minute while I grabbed a jacket. When we got out to his car, he had a rose for me.

“Aw, thank you, John. This is so sweet,” I said, wondering what I was going to do with it all night. I felt a bit on the bitchy side after our earlier conversation, but things just felt weird. I took a few deep breaths to steady myself.

“I have my CD collection with me, if you’d like to listen to one,” he said, reaching behind the seat to grab the enormous binder. I opened it up to the first section, and the first four CDs were all Santana. Ok, that’s cool, I thought. He likes Santana. They really do have good music. I flipped to the next page. Santana. The next page. Santana. The entire fifty-page binder was filled with … Santana. Warning bell five.

“So, you like Santana?” I asked with a smile.

He gave me a sheepish smile. “Yeah, they’re my favorite.” Who figured? I chose one randomly, and he popped it in.

We got to the restaurant early and bellied up to the bar for a cocktail. I ordered a glass of merlot, and he ordered some bizarre fruity concoction with fruit hanging all over the edges and an umbrella. Warning bell six.

Once we were seated, things got even more bizarre. We were at O’Hana’s at Walt Disney’s Polynesian Resort. The meats are brought around to the tables on skewers, and you can have as much as you like. They had chicken, beef, and two kinds of shrimp. He got chicken and beef.

“You don’t like shrimp?” I asked. “Their shrimp is really good.” I had already dug into mine. It was amazing.

“No, I don’t like shrimp,” he said into his plate.

Trying, in vain, to start up a conversation, I asked, “What is it you don’t like about shrimp? I know some people don’t like the consistency.”

“Oh, well, I’ve never actually had shrimp before.” I sat my fork down. Warning bell seven.

“You’ve never tried it? How can you not like it if you’ve never tried it?”

He just shrugged in response.

“Okay, you really should try it. Try it with one of the dipping sauces.” I gave him one of my shrimps.

He sniffed it and sat it down. “No, I don’t like shrimp.” Sigh. I snagged it back and ate it myself. Why waste a good shrimp?

For over an hour, I tried to have a conversation with him. I got one-word answers, “Yes,” “No,” or “Maybe.” Zero connection. But it wasn’t over.

At one point he went to use the restroom, and I, bored out of my mind, struck up a conversation with the family next to us. They were from my hometown, and they had the cutest little girl. We were chatting when John came back, and he just ignored me. I made one final attempt at conversation and gave up.

When the waiter came with the check, John pulled a credit card out of his wallet. He handed me the folio and the card and said, “How do I do this?” Warning bell eight.

I cocked an eyebrow at him, took the card, placed it in the folio, and set them both on the table. I went back to talking to the neighbors.

And Done

After that last blind date, I told everyone to take a hike. I was done. Three strikes, you are most definitely out.

After a while, I had had enough of people hounding me about dating. At that point, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands and hit the online dating circuit. I checked out a few apps, but one of them popped up I had never heard of before, Scoop. It was ranked in the top ten of a gazillion dating apps, so I gave it a shot.

Within twenty-four hours, I had about ten guys I was chatting with. There was this one, though, on a Sunday. He was sitting on a pool chair with a glass of dark wine in his hand. His profile was the perfect balance of similarities and differences to really pique my interest. I messaged him.

“Whatcha drinkin’?” I typed.

“Merlot,” he responded.

“Oh, really?”

“Oh, yeah. I love merlot. I’m actually a sommelier for a wine bar here in town.”

We texted back and forth a few more times and finally ended the evening on a two-hour phone call. Every night that week we were on the phone for hours. We set up a date for Friday night. He took me to his wine bar, and we had the perfect bottle of merlot. Less than a year later, we had a magnificent wedding on the beach, toasting our bliss with, you guessed it, a fabulous bottle of merlot.