I see another bad date...

Okay, I've been meaning to cover this one for a couple of weeks.

Remember when I mentioned I may have a new boyfriend? Yeah, well, a mention here is the equivalent of a hex on any potential suitor and so it was with the well-digger.

Remember him from my trifecta dating spree a while back? In case you don't, here's a quote about him:

I wasn't going to go out with him again as the first two dates were fun but he is very shy and I had decided he might not be able to handle a gal like me without serious therapy down the road.

Unfortunately, I did not listen to my gut, which was telling me he was a bit boring for my tastes. After all, I'm 33 and he was cute and nice and why couldn't I just settle for someone stable for once?

So I tried. And tried. And tried. For a couple of months I listened to him talk about Texas and the Army way too much. I went golfing in 102 degree heat. I saw Superman Returns. I cooked him dinner. He cooked me dinner. Normal date stuff, going through the motions, waiting for the big spark to happen. Alas, not even a flicker and my ardor was fading.

Then we had one of those dates. You know the dates where you're already on the fence about someone and then they go and do everything that could possibly annoy you all within the same hour? It's not that each individual thing they do would normally annoy you, it's just that it annoys you more because you know you'd rather be home washing your cat than feigning interest on another so-so date. So it was with the well-digger.

He called me on a Friday afternoon to invite me to dinner in his town. I accepted and drove to his place around 7:00. We had some casual conversation, played with his dogs, and had a beer while hanging out before heading to dinner. Don't worry, it gets better...

At the restaurant he ordered a margarita and I followed suit, except I asked for a top shelf margarita. Once the waiter left my date chided me for ordering a top shelf margarita, stating I wouldn't know the difference between regular and top shelf. I explained that I'm a puker and rottgut tequila does not help the situation and offered to pay for it myself. He continued to ask about the state of my "top shelf" margarita throughout dinner. That was annoyance factor #1.

The next annoyance factor came into play during dinner when our conversation somehow turned to the topic of Haley Joel Osment, that the kid who saw dead people in some movie, recently got in a car wreck in a 1995 Saturn. Teh well-digger was extremely critical and juvenile about the fact that a rich 18 year old movie actor drove an old Saturn. I don't know about the kid, the accident, or why anyone would care what an 18 year old he didn't know drove. But my date dwelled on this topic for ages and was quite upset about the situation. I just listened in disbelief happy that I hadn't paid for satellite tv if this was what it was reporting as news.

After dead people and dead conversation, the bill came. He let it sit there looking from it to me and back. Finally, he picked it up and asked me for $20. You read that right.

Notwithstanding the fact that he invited me to dinner and I drove 30 minutes to get to where dinner was, I knew my margarita didn't cost that much and all I'd eaten was an appetizer flauta, for a total of about $14. I asked if he was serious and he said yes so I gave him a $20 bill and seethed quietly. I'm good at seething.

Oh, but it gets better. Rather than pocket my $20, he put the $20 bill on the pay tray along with his credit card and asked the waitress to put the difference on his card. I know people do this when out to lunch in groups, or they are short on cash, but this was a date!

Still, it gets better.

Because he hadn't dated much I gave him the benefit of the doubt and figured maybe he didn't know that when you invite someone to dinner, unless otherwise stated, the invitor pays for dinner. Especially when they drive 1/2 an hour to see you. It's not about the money, it's about courtesy. I decided to tell him "the rules" politely after we left the restaurant. He suggested we grab a beer at the local bar and I figured that would be a great venue for a polite summary of the rules of dating.

So we get to the bar and order two beers and he says, "Why don't you get this round since I got the first round at my house."

That's right folks, he was counting the beer I had at his house as credit toward a round at the bar. And he was, again, serious.

I don't know about you, but I have an extra refrigerator dedicated to beer and wine just for when my friends come over to hang out. I don't consider them having a beer as part of some great scorekeeping scheme, I just consider it hospitality and common courtesy. I also buy rounds for people with no expectation of reciprocation. So to have a date keep tabs on things really irks me.

Oh, no, it's not over. The date was, but the saga isn't.

After the beer I said I had to get home. Of course, as I drove home and replayed the date in my mind I grew more and more irritated with myself for attempting to date someone I knew was not my type and vowed to dump him at the next reasonable opportunity. I tried to fathom how he'd lived 29 years as an attractive male and not known better. I couldn't find and answer.

That was on a Friday night.

He called twice on Saturday and, thanks to the miracle of caller ID, I didn't pick up.

Then he called Sunday and I did the same thing.

Then he called Monday and left a message saying he was going to be passing through my town around lunch and for me to call if I wanted to go to lunch with him. I didn't call back.

Around 12:30 on Monday I heard the growl of a diesel engine on the street. Seeing as how there is only one house on my street I knew it was coming for me. I peeked out and sure enough it was a well-drilling rig. Note to readers: If someone doesn't return six of your phone calls in three days, do not just show up at their house.

Let me preface this next part by saying that I absolutely hate it when people drop by my house unannounced. It is presumptuous and since the advent of telephones there is no excuse for not calling to confirm a visit is acceptable. I had told the well-digger that it is one of my pet peeves so he knew better.

Alas, I couldn't pretend I wasn't home so I answered the door. He was all smiles and wanting a Gatorade and some lunch. I gave him a Gatorade (keeping score, of course) and promptly gave him the old "you're a nice guy but we just don't have any chemistry" speech which is almost as good as the "it isn't you, it's me" speech, both of which usually mean one of three things: 1. You're boring, 2. You're bad in bed, or 3. I've met someone else who I like better but thanks for being a placeholder.