And then there was the time I was on the way to our nation's Capitol, writing this post and texting with a gentleman, who is actually in some of the older stories, while he was reading this blog for the first time. So meta.
A couple of months ago, I needed (read: wanted) to get out of a date. I'm normally on board with giving someone more than one chance to see if there's a connection, but the one time I’d been out with this guy caused me to develop a nervous twitch at the thought of seeing him again. Or maybe that was just the chardonnay shakes. I can’t be too sure. Anyhow, he didn’t make it terribly appealing to get together for round two when he texted me, “Seafood? Is 6:30 or 7:00 good? How about we meet in Midtown?” Just what every 31-year old New Yorker wants to sacrifice her Friday night to: seafood in Midtown at the 75+ crowd seating.
I happened to run into my friend Tara in the lobby soon after seeing his suggestion and immediately started to whine to her how I needed out. I told her, “I’m just going to be direct and say, ‘how about we don’t.’” She told me that was too mean, so I made up some BS about working on a new biz pitch which sounded totally plausible and came to me disturbingly fast. The thing is I’m honest, sometimes to a fault, but I feel like certain situations just call for it. This is one of them - notice the date range:
I happened to run into my friend Tara in the lobby soon after seeing his suggestion and immediately started to whine to her how I needed out. I told her, “I’m just going to be direct and say, ‘how about we don’t.’” She told me that was too mean, so I made up some BS about working on a new biz pitch which sounded totally plausible and came to me disturbingly fast. The thing is I’m honest, sometimes to a fault, but I feel like certain situations just call for it. This is one of them - notice the date range:
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| If you ever happen to locate your dignity again, please grab ahold of it tightly. |
I've since used the new biz pitch excuse on at least two separate occasions. It's a good one. However, in order to keep it fresh, I decided the best thing to do would be to build up an arsenal of excuses to use right off the bat and never again find myself with a looming Midtown seafood predicament.
The most reasonable way to do this seemed to be crowdsourcing on Facebook. What I learned is that most of you are quick to channel your inner 11-year old and make poop jokes. And it's not that I don't find Oops I Crapped My Pants funny, I do, but it's not something you're realistically going to tell someone. Even if your'e me. Here are some of my other favorites coming out of that request:
- I have to petition the White House
- I have to feed my cat
- I have to get more cats; the farm isn't going to populate itself
- Spastic colon
- Sudden onset of crabs and lesbianism
- Needed to wait for a good excuse from one of my Facebook friends telling me how to get out of a date last minute. Er, wait a minute...
- Maybe just show him my Facebook wall
- Whine about my day blaming various other racial groups. If he doesn't cancel on me, call him a racist and cancel on him.
A couple of people suggested I give this guy a chance, saying he's clearly interested. He is undoubtedly persistent; I'll give him that. However, once again faced with the prospect of spending an evening with him, the only thing I could think to say was, "how about we don't."
Until the next catastrophic engagement,
Vennifer.
