When Fantasy crashes into Reality and there is a ticket for reckless driving

Thanks to Beth for inspiring this post. Be sure to read her post about her blind date. Very funny stuff.

I am a fickle, fickle girl. I always have been...back in high school (many many moons ago), I once had a crush on seven (7) guys during the same week. I had a list. Number 7 was "Boy who held the water fountain for me." I don't think I ever saw him again or knew what his name was.

Anyway, I've always been a bit of a flirt and, sometimes, this can get me into trouble. Or even worse, into a blind date. Something very important to know about me...I have never been in love. I have been in like, in lust and insane but I've never been in love. I don't know if it's a committment problem or what the deal is but while I like men and think they are wonderful (Even though they don't recognize me for the love goddess that I am and worship at my feet, offering to feed me small bites of cheese and brussel sprouts (I don't like grapes)), I never seem to be able to get past that first bit of infatuation and build the lasting relationship.

So my blind date story goes as follows:

I am working at the job from hell. I am the Office Manager or Receptionist (depends on who you talked to) for a small wire distribution in Minnesota. Part of my job is to take orders for wire from other companies. One of these companies has hired a new employee named Malcolm (I have no clue what his name really was, I just love the name Malcolm). Malcolm and I have a great time talking to each other every time he calls.

A few weeks go by and the conversations have progressed from "Hi, Dana, we'd like to order five boxes of wire today" to "What's your favorite color? Are you involved with anyone? And, oh, yeah, I guess we did need some wire, I should probably order that." I was no better, with my questions of "What type of movies do you like? Are you involved with anyone?" instead of "That will come to $75 with shipping and handling."

My co-boss (there were two of them, Satan and his wife (names changed to protect the jackasses. You'll get to read more about them in a later post. They were great (yes, that's a sarcastic great))), Marcy was listening to our calls and laughing, encouraging me. Whenever Satan wasn't around, she and I were great friends. This was one of the times that he wasn't there, thank God, he was out in the warehouse screaming at truck drivers for driving too close to his building. She made some comment about him and I replied, "Marcy, if he's half as good looking as he sounds on the phone, he'll be drop dead gorgeous."

The phone rings. I answer it in my chirpy voice "Small Wire Distribution company in Minnesota, this is Dana, how may I help you?"

"Dana, this is Malcolm."

"Oh, hi, Malcolm. Did you need more wire?"

"No, I was wondering if you wanted to get together and do something."

I stare at the phone in shock. I'm being asked out? This never happens (Okay, so this should be my first clue, right? The reason I am never asked out is because the normal, average male is extremely shallow and focuses on appearance. Malcolm has never seen me. He has no clue what I look like and is asking out Fantasy Dana from the sound of my voice. Of course, I've never seen him either...) . I turn to Marcy and mouth "He just asked me out!" She mouths back "Go for it!" (Well, honestly, it could have easily been "Get back to work!" I'm not known for my accurate lip reading)

"Um, sure," I stammer. (Yeah, way to keep that witty dialouge going there, Dana!) We agree to talk about the details later and I provide him with my home phone number. Later that night, he calls, we talk, I tell him I don't drive, he wonders why, I tell him why (and you can read the posts if you want to know why, they are here and here (although the 2nd post didn't happen until last year)), he laughs and we agree to get together that weekend to play mini golf. Which, laugh all you want, is actually not a bad idea. It gives you a chance to talk and get to know each other and there's no pressure, you can have a good time and play a game and have fun. I am looking forward to my date with Malcolm. I spend the rest of the week obsessing over what I am going to wear and drag my friends out shopping.

Saturday night appears. I am ready with my new black blazer (very slimming, because, while I haven't reached the full round voluptous stature of the love goddess I am today, I was working on it.), gold (sparkly!) top and black pants. My hair is styled, I am wearing make-up. I look good. Well, good for me. And, yes, I realize I'm being hard on myself but when you're the type of girl who is referred to as "having a great personality," it's hard not to be.

There is a knock on the door. I pull the door open. And then, here is where the title comes in. I can tell by looking at Malcolm that he's not overly thrilled comparing the real me to the fantasy me. I am not thrilled by the real Malcolm compared to the fantasy Malcolm (Although, in my defense, I have always been attracted to men that other women don't find attractive. I'll post on that in a day or two). Call me crazy, but I have a hard time getting turned on by men who are 3 to 5 inches shorter than me, especially since I'm 5'4". Of course, it's obvious Malcolm was probably not expecting me to be as zaftig as I was.

I will give him, actually both of us, credit. Instead of saying "No way in hell," we made the most of the date. We went to play mini golf, it was fun, we enjoyed talking to each other. There was absolutely no chemistry. He drove me home and here is where I lost all respect for him. We are sitting in the car, talking and I, being polite, invite him upstairs for a drink. He makes this big show of looking at his watch and saying "Oh, is that the time? I promised a friend I'd meet them in Minneapolis at midnight." May I just say "Riiiiiighhhht" to that? It was 11:50. I didn't call him on it, though, I had been hoping he'd say no anyway. We said good night, he left, I went upstairs.

On Monday, Marcy wanted to know all of the details. As I was filling her in, the phone rings. It's someone from the company Malcolm works at, Julie. While I'm taking the order, she casually asks me a question. "So, how did your date go with Malcolm, Dana?"

"You knew about that?" I ask.

"Yeah, he was telling everyone about it, earlier this week."

"Why didn't you ask him?"

"Oh, I suppose he wouldn't tell you. We fired him on Friday. He was stealing from us," Julie says. My mouth drops open. I finish taking the order and hang up.

So, here's what an overactive imagination got me: a short, lying, unemployed criminal. There are some benefits to being overweight - repelling losers and always being a little warm in winter are the only two I've found so far but hey, I'm sure there are others.