Misadventures in Online Dating

Warning: a crass and somewhat shocking sexual term follows. If you're offended by this...heck, you wouldn't be reading my blog.
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Since I didn't know the area - though I work part-time in his neighborhood - he chose a first date dinner spot: Buffalo Wings. When I arrived, a man strolled out of the eatery's front entrance. He appeared a much older, much more bald version of the man whose on-line photos I'd liked. So it goes...

"Hi, Mr. BJ, good to meet you," I said, with a forced smile.

Mr. BJ gave me a side-hug. "Good to meet you," he grinned. "I just went in for a minute, and that place is really loud and crowded. I'm wondering if you want to go somewhere else?" 

Duh. That place is party-central for drunken college kids. He just realized it's loud? "Sure, I'm not a fan. What else is around here? I'm easy."

"Why don't we go to BJs?" Oops, maybe I shouldn't have said I'm easy. But It can't mean THAT. I agreed.

As we sat in the semi-crowded, semi-loud restaurant waiting for our food, conversation was forced. By this I mean, I was the only one skilled in basic discourse - as he focused on his phone, showed me pictures of himself and his brother, and was generally odd.

"So, what does BJ really stand for?" I couldn't let it go.

With pride and confidence, he blurted out: "blow job!" Mr BJ proceeded to work himself up into a laughing frenzy.

A sweet young waitress approached our table.

Mr BJ readily asked her, "What does BJ stand for?"

"Um, I think it's someone's name, but I'm not sure."

"Oh, 'cuz she asked me, and I told her" - his voice got louder and prouder - "it means blow job!"

The waitress glanced at me sympathetically. "Well that's awkward," she said.

"It really is," I agreed. "And on a first (and last) date too. I don't know what menu he's looking at, but that won't be served tonight."

He kept giggling. Really, dude? You're like old and graying and a grandpa and you think you're like the next Jay Leno.

Needless to say, Mr. BJ did not get a BJ that night. Though a follow-up text from him said something about thunderstorms, I had no response. I have no desire to engage in thunderous BJs or talk thereof with Mr. BJ.

Instead, I'm defaulting to the tried-and-true threesome:
(1) chocolate,
(2) batteries, and
(3) chocolate.

Have a great, safe, week, dear sillies.