A flashback

Adam and I went to Chapters last week to stock up on some new books. I ended up buying this one  and this one. I think that may have been the first time any Chapters cashier witnessed that book purchase combination.

However, that's neither here nor there.

The Chapters we went to was also the location of one of the WORST dates I've EVER had. Ew. Yuck.

I can't remember his name, for which I'm grateful. This date occurred somewhere in the middle of my online dating lifespan. He was one of those borderline guys that I hemmed and hawed about for a while before agreeing to a date. By borderline, I mean - he could either be really ugly or kind of cute. Maybe borderline doesn't quite fit as a description. What I mean is that his pictures online looked decent. I guess you could say he had potential to go either way.

He went the bad way.

He sort of resembled that kid from A Christmas Story - all grown up. Not Ralphy (cause we all know that actually turned out well). I'm talking about the psycho Ginger (no offense cool Gingers I know) weasel kid:

Yeah. A grown up version of that guy. Not only did my 'date' look weird  - he WAS weird, man. First - he didn't know how to order from Starbucks. He asked if they had coffee. Second - he drank his coffee from a straw. 

I literally spoke three sentences the entire 1.5 hours we were there. He, in between straw sips of his hot, hot beverage, regaled me with stories from his childhood about how he wasn't hugged enough by his mommy. He made hugging motions around his own body to emphasize that fact. He was his own closed captioning - in case all his incessant babble had inadvertently deafened me, I think. 

This went on and on and on. I had actually given up any sort of attempt at discreetness in checking the time on my phone by this point. He actually watched me check the clock at least five times, all the while talking non-stop about his mommy - completely unphased.

Luckily for me, he soon switched topics - he wanted to tell me about his job as a janitor at an old age home. And let me tell you, I was completely misinformed about the work of old age home janitors. They save lives, people. They. save. lives. Or he did, at least. Those elderly men and women all would have died long, lonely deaths if he and his trusty mop weren't around. He seemed to be the McDreamy of retirement residences. McMoppy. 

After covering his emotional childhood scars, his life saving janitorial work and eventually, his ritual of burning ex girlfriends belongings - I just stood up and said I had to leave.

I didn't hug him either. His mom would have been proud of me.