“Robyn, I was thinking of setting you up with Todd,” she had declared two weeks earlier. “He’s attractive, intelligent and very kind…The only reason it didn’t work out is because I wanted him to take me to fancy dinners and buy me jewelry and things...I’m accustomed to being treated that way.”
No false pretenses on her part; Deanna’s a Beverly Hills prima donna through and through. I’m not, so I figured this might work. She neglected to mention Todd’s awkward weirdness, though. I guess she hadn’t noticed, being awkwardly weird herself.
So there we sat at Java Rama, engaging in the typical first (and last)-date-with-the-friend’s-ex conversation: “How do you know (Deanna)? She’s great, isn’t she? Yeah, and hot too. Really hot. God, I miss being with her…”
After 32 minutes of this, we walked down Park Street to the Alameda Beach. Note that a woman was too polite to end a date when a woman wanted to. The beach stroll was actually peaceful, as we meandered through the sand, making small talk and glimpsing at the glistening water. Suddenly, Todd--towering at 6 feet of lanky cowardice--criss-crossed his arms overhead and mad a made dash back towards Park Street. “The pigeons! The pigeons!” he screeched in holy terror.
Uh, those birds flying overhead would be called “seagulls”, you dumb *bleep*, I wanted to shout as I wandered far behind. And they aren’t likely to crap on you, but if they do, it won’t kill you. You are embarrassing me and the entire West Coast. That includes Venice beach. And folks down there don’t embarrass easily.
So I ended the date immediately. Well, it ended itself. But note that a woman has some standards.