Dave is on a mission. He has suddenly decided it's a good idea for me to try out Speed Dating. I'm italicizing it to hopefully emphasize the ridiculousness of the phrase. Ooooooh, look at me I'm Speeeeeeed Dating. I'm all flashy, trendy, bright & shiny, and full of ego-inflated singletons. Because seriously, anyone who goes to one of these events *must* go through the pep-talk before venturing in to the lion's den. I ask myself, and you my readers, what quality of man will I meet at speed dating?
Nah ah. I *KNOW* you didn't just tell me how much money you made and ask me about material bullshit. I'm sorry, but when my doe-eyed children look at me one day and say, "Mommy, how did you and daddy meet?" my answer will NOT be, "Speed dating over a dirty martini."
Bollocks to him.
Unfortunately Dave is as almost as stubborn as I am. *Almost*. I won today and if he brings up this shit again in the future I'll beat him down every time. Today I distracted him with a Cadbury egg. My sidekick Steve hopped onboard later and distracted him with a story of how I got a several hundred dollar bar tab comp'd by doing... absolutely... nothing. To Dave's credit, he really only wanted to sit with the cool kids at lunch and now I'm his "project." Crap.
I say to you Dave, if it's a man you want to set me up with why don't you find a worthy friend. We'll talk offline about this later if you can bear my political libran-ess.
Comments
Maggs, there are no such thing as men. They are a figment of your imagination. Opposite women there are:
boys
men with girlfriends
men with boyfriends
Steve
all are undateable. We're screwed. Unliterally.