I could never understand why people 'forgot' why they broke up with someone. This was, until recently, when I was trying to enter a contest with a local TV station.
I'm such a sucker for those "tell us your best story" contests. Because I have me some goooood stories. Recently I entered a Best Shopping Story contest and a Best Father's Day contest. What would have been better is if both were the same story, but I digress.
So when I saw this contest, asking for your best (worst?) bad dating story, I chuckled to myself in my office. Which has a terrible echo, and I'm sure the three ladies who sit in the cube farm outside my door hate me because I do a lot of chuckling to myself. Heh, heh, heh. Most often about my own wit.
So I opened my email, cracked my fingers and ...drew a total blank.
That's the funny thing about memory. Oh, lawdamercy, some of the dates I've been on have been AWFUL! Like that guy who...or that time we went...or, uh...shoot.
Two and a half years off the meat market and I've forgotten what it's like. I'm that smug bastard friend who says things like, "Oh, I remember being single! I had so much fun!" and "What do you mean, dating is hard? Dating is fun! Go slap on some lipstick, get out there and have FUN!"
I would smack myself if I wasn't concerned about visible bruising.
Of course I remember some of the more hurtful, painful, emotional speed bumps on my dating highway. Like the guy who FINALLY came over to my place after weeks of not calling me back because I threatened to burn the 'shit he left on my nightstand'. Or the guy who wouldn't take a hint and kept calling me, at my office, long after we'd 'broken up'. Or that damn Bradley Hayes* who eluded my love from 1989-2002, told me on September 18, 1998 that he didn't want to go out with me "right now" and then did the total jerk maneuver of asking a friend of mine out RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME on December 18, 1998.
I've always been good with dates.
Uh, for the record, that day was also the day that I first met vodka shots. Yellloooo!
Oh, or the guy who took me to a comedy club, where I was mocked and picked on by a low-grade comedian for an hour before I excused myself to go cry in the bathroom. Yeah, that was romantic.
But some of the best stories, the funniest ones, the ones that made my friends cringe over jagerbombs and double dogs and those delicious pot stickers at OJ's, the ones that I know would have won that freaking contest are gone forever.