Second Dinner

Bad dates make great stories right? Whenever that dreaded feeling comes before a first date my friend Kath and I always say to each other “ do it for the book” The book being our future memoirs…still a few working titles (insufficient fare, the understudy… etc ) I might be the first person who has ever written their memoir before they accomplished anything.

Well I will share my BEST bad date story, although my date plays a very small role in the story. Anyways, I moved to Ireland to go to grad school and knew pretty much no one. I had been there for a little over a month and was trying out a new say yes to everything attitude. So I said yes to a date with someone I met out that normally I may not have, whatever do it for the story.

I lived with a family the first half of the year, they were friends of friends and it was a cozy house in south Dublin, Maggie the mom was a typical Irish mom, asking you a lot about your life and feeding you until you felt physically ill. The father George, was a man of few words and even saying that, I think it is a generous term for him. In the month that I had been living there I had seen him maybe 2 times, when we crossed paths when he came into the kitchen to collect his dinner and bring it back into his den to eat alone in front of the T.V. Maggie made me dinner every night, so I told her I was going out with a friend and would most likely eat out, she said she would save me a plate in case I was hungry when I got home.

I knew about five minutes into the date it wasn’t going to work out, but he was nice enough, just deeply serious and asking tough political questions, I prefer date conversations to consists of the top 5 celebrities you would kill and death row meals. Anyways, we stayed for a few drinks then decided to check out another bar next door.

At the next bar, we were both slightly buzzed and it was easier conversation but we were still in the depths of the 2016 election. I excused myself to the bathroom, and got myself a bit lost, I went down into the basement, which was completely empty but eventually found a bathroom in the corner. I walked in and was instantly greeted by Eva, I mean this in the least offensive way possible but Eva looked like a crack head. She seemed strung out, was mumbling, her hair was all over the place. I couldn’t tell where her coat ended and her pants began, I swear she had a few pairs of pants on and at least three coats, Oh and she had a few face tattoos.

Well, Eva and I became fast friends, before I knew it we had our arms around each other, looking into the mirror, and I was asking her detailed questions about each face tat. She was very sweet and I spent an inappropriate amount of time with her. We hugged goodbye like two brothers leaving for war not like two strangers in a grungy basement bathroom. I made my way back up to the bar and pretended like I was gone for an appropriate amount of time.

The bar was very upscale and stiff, it matched our conversation perfectly. I can’t remember exactly what we were back into the conversation but probably economic imperialism or famine when I heard my name being called repeatedly, at first from farther away and then it got closer and closer. ‘Nancy?!” Nancy?! Nancy? I turned around and my worst suspicions were confirmed it was my new friend Eva.

I felt like Hugh Jackman in the greatest showman when the bearded lady shows up at his fancy dinner event.

The guy was so confused.. “ How do you know her…. You met in the bathroom here.?..”

Maybe it was in my head, but I felt like the date ended kind of abruptly after that. Thanks Eva!

Eva, if you are reading this, I was not and am not embarrassed about you and our friendship.

Anyways the date ended over chicken nuggets at the classy establishment that is McDonald’s. We bid farewell, spoiler alert, I would never see him again.

I made my way home and tiptoed into my house around 12:30 as to not wake up Maggie and George. As I was about to make my way up the stairs I heard George’s den open and make his way down the steps. He came down and told me he put my plate in the fridge but he will reheat it for me. He took out a plate of corned beef, cabbage, mashed potatoes covered in gravy and warmed it up. I didn’t have the heart to tell George I had already eaten and couldn’t not be less hungry.

I sat in that kitchen like Bruce Bogtrotter with the chocolate cake in Matilda… you can do it Brucie! I was covered in chills and shaking bringing that fork to my mouth.

I managed two fork fulls before George said goodnight and headed back upstairs. The minute I heard his den close I scraped the remnants off that plate into the disposal and called it a night. It wasn’t my first second dinner and probably wont be my last.