Blind Date

I sat in his apartment awkwardly on a dark brown leather sofa. This was something I’d never done before: a blind-date. Call me crazy but I’d always imagined blind-dates at bars, restaurants, bike-riding... something involving a little bit of space, a little bit of give in case your unknown date is... is... well, is a freak.

Of course with my luck, my mystery man had offered to make a delicious dinner at his place. Excellent. I couldn’t complain because once hitting a particular age, a woman’s nitpicking could lead her to the awful, unimaginable... “single and forty zone.”

My friends at work had raved about this Phil guy. “Phil this... Phil that... Phil works out... Phil is so sweet...” Now, being the only single friend left of theirs, I had no choice but to meet their amazingly fabulous Phil.

I imagine all individuals are nervous before a blind date. I was no exception. I tried on three tops, two pairs of pants, four bras, and la grande finale: seven pairs of shoes. With the phone in my hand, about to cancel on him, in barged three of my coworkers with combs, make-up kits, tights, curling-irons... the works. Their mission: to adorn me until I was suitable for Fantastic Phil.

Like moths to a flame (or flies to a poop) they swarmed me until I was perfecto. Phil picked me up twenty minutes later, while the girls rambunctiously hid behind the curtains to spy.

The very beginning of the car ride wasn’t bad. Explaining a bit about ourselves gave a few things to chat about. Then we approached the first red light. It seemed like eons had gone by since one of us had talked.

Finally we approached his apartment. Great – at least we’d have something to talk about. Surely his apartment would have some interesting piece to speak of. I was already creating conversation starters. “Oh, whoa! What an amazing painting, Phil! Where did you find this?” “What a nice, big fridge! I tell you, that mini fridge of mine has got to go!” “No! So, it’s a couch and a bed?” Perfect; I was ready for the fascinating topics to begin.

Swipe of the card; key in the lock; opens the door and BAM. Right in front of me is the most utterly plain and boring room I have ever seen. White walls, a small TV (with rabbit-ears might I add), a stove, one couch and a fish tank ever so randomly placed on a coffee table.

He explained he needed to use the washroom. At that very moment I felt an anxiety attack come along faster than a bolt of lightning. I sat myself onto his sofa only to cause an inky black cat to leap meters away and dart into what I can only assume was a bedroom.

So there I sat: amid in an apartment I hated, with a man I’d known for thirteen minutes and forty-five seconds too long. I’d have been crazy to sit there a second longer. I quietly crept towards the door and let myself out.

The next Monday I explained to the girls that I just couldn’t see myself with Phi. Sure, I may wind up a single, forty-something-year-old-woman, but if it meant being married to a “Phil” I’d settle for the single life.

My only regret: I left my coat on his couch.