My Worst Second Date
I don’t write about my dating life that often because, let’s face it, I never really had one. My first serious, long-term relationship was with B. Plus, I don’t like sharing personal information that is too close to the present because I like my privacy. This date happened a while back, so I feel that it’s time to share it.
When I lived in Atlanta, I met a guy at Eddie’s Attic which is one of my favorite music venues. We exchanged numbers, talked for a bit, hung out together with some of his friends, and then went on a date. This first date involved burning trash, listening to records, drinking bourbon, petting a dog, and eating food that his mother had made (his mother was not present). It was the perfect mixture of strange and interesting where I wasn’t sure how it was all going to end, but I wanted to see where things would go because I knew it would be interesting. I got sick soon after this date, and he told me to call him once I felt better so that we could get together again.
Well, my body had the worst timing. When I called him to let him know I was feeling better, he informed me that his father had just passed away. Of course, I was sympathetic and offered my assistance, assuming he wouldn’t take me up on it.
Instead, he invited me to the funeral.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t really know this guy. We weren’t dating. We had gone on one date. I felt horrible for him, but I didn’t know if my presence at the funeral as an acquaintance was actually going to help him feel better. I did the only thing I knew to do in these situations – I called my mom.
She encouraged me that it would probably be a big funeral and that he wouldn’t invite me if he didn’t want me there. She told me I could go, sit in the back, give him a hug and walk out.
That didn’t sound too bad. I checked with her what was appropriate funeral attire, and then I planned for an uncomfortable experience.
As I drove up to the funeral, I realized it was at the cemetery. As I walked up, I realized that it was not a big, open funeral. There were less than 30 people there. Everyone had known the deceased well. Everyone knew each other. I slipped into a seat in the back and hoped no one noticed me.
After the funeral, I went up to give my hug and walk out. Instead, the guy asked me to come to the reception where everyone was going to eat oysters and tell stories about the deceased whom I had never met. I didn’t even know the father’s name before the funeral.
I felt trapped (and I couldn’t call my mother). I reluctantly agreed. He started introducing me to his family who all commented on how lovely I was. He introduced me to his three childhood friends who were present. I started sweating. Then I felt guilty for feeling uncomfortable. The guy had just lost his father after all.
I went to the reception. I sat with his friends. They asked me lots of questions and tried to determine if I was suitable girlfriend material. I didn’t know whether or not to explain that I was definitely not anywhere near being a girlfriend.
After a suitable amount of discomfort and good food, I felt that it would be okay to head out. I went over to say goodbye, and the guy asked me to stay. He made me wait until everyone had left and took this time to introduce me to his grandma. Then he said goodbye and thanked me for coming.
I drove away still very sweaty.
If you’re wondering how our third date went, there never was one. He asked me for some space as he grieved the death of his father, which I gave him. A few weeks later, he asked me for nude photos, and I sent him pictures of my skinned up knees instead.