One of my worst dates. Ever.

Remember back in your single days?
When you would be excited to go on a date with a boy?
Who asked you out at least four days before the event, so it wasn't like, "OH crap! I don't have anything better to do, so I might as well call Stephanie, who doesn't have anything better to do either."

Yeah. Me neither.

Ok. So I do remember the days when I was single and excited to go out. But I usually was the "OH crap" date.

I have had my fair share of particularly bad dates and thought perhaps I could post one today and then another in awhile.

So here is bad date number one (not the worst bad date, just the first one that I will share):

Rewind to 1991...I lived in Tucson, with my parents. My parents live on the far Eastside of Tucson. I was sort of attending the local community college. But I was really attending the LDS Institute on the University of Arizona campus. (As an aside, a few people were shocked to learn that I didn't actually attend UA, since I spent hours on the campus. Just more of an institutey.).

The UA campus is about 12 miles West of my parents' home. Which isn't too far for Phoenix standards. But for Tucson standards, I might as well have lived in Alabama.

A guy, I'll call "Dale," asked me out on Wednesday-ish for a Friday night double date. I accepted. I didn't know him very well, but he didn't seem too bad.

Since he was a poor student, living near campus, I offered to meet him somewhere. He insisted on picking me up, since, in his words, he was a "gentleman."

He was supposed to pick me up at 6 for a movie and dinner and then we were going to go to the Institute dance. (Remember, it's the early 90s and going to a dance was actually fun in those days.).

Well, at 7:30, he finally showed up at my house. He hadn't called to say he was late.

I know. I should have just left, but this was back in the days when people could (and DID) walk over me with ease.

The first words out of his mouth were not anything like, "I'm so sorry I'm late," or "You look really great." No....he said, "Wow! You do live far!" (It makes me wonder what a non-gentleman would say.).

DUH!

We get in his car, and he explains that he's sorry it's so wet, but the floorboard has a hole in it. Yeah....he has a total Flintstones car. The floor where the driver's feet go is missing. But he had bolted a skateboard to the floor so his feet wouldn't drag the ground. And it was wet because Tucson was experiencing a serious winter rainstorm.

Not only was the floor wet, but the windows fogged up so badly, we could barely see out. The other guy's date, who was a particularly optimistic person, looked quite concerned. She told me they had already run a couple of red lights since the vision out the windshield was so limited.

We, fortunately, made it to the theater safely and watched Edward Scissorhands. I have always thought the movie was a little strange. I wonder if it would seem less strange if associated with other company.

After the movie (keep in mind--it's got to be close to 10 pm at this point), we were driving toward the campus, looking for a place to eat. Dale noticed 7-11 was offering 2-4-1 hot dogs. I was most certainly NOT eating a hot dog, much less two, so I scanned the options nearby and said, pointing, "Look! There's Burger King! My favorite restaurant!"

That is a quote.

It, however, was not my favorite restaurant. It was just the only option.

So, Dale cut across three lanes of traffic and skid into the parking lot.

We ordered. The other couple ordered.

While we waited for our food, we played some game the other guy brought along. He did that kind of thing frequently. Carried games with him.

When we got our food, Dale reminded us that we needed to bless our food.

He offered. I would say it was a prayer, but it was more of a stand-up comic act that wasn't funny. I was quite embarassed. He wasn't. So he continued to "amuse" God. I'm surprised one of us didn't get food poisoning for it.

We got to the Institute dance. I bolted. I had to find someone, anyone, to dance with to end my misery. I ignored him pretty much the rest of the evening and found a ride home.

Less than a year later, a friend married him. I was the reception sign-in girl. And oh-so-glad I wasn't Mrs. Dale!

So, my friend, Jamie Post Melin (I can type your whole name, too. Even if it's only half as long as mine!) also posted a bad date.