My friend Dolly has a local guy friend who is from Scotland. And he is a bit on the short side (for a guy, anyway). I'm not really sure how his nickname "the Wee Scott" came about, but, in our circle of friends, I'm not sure anyone even knows the poor guy's real name.
The Wee Scott is a sweetheart—truly, he is—but he tends to be a little ...how shall I say it? Self-confident? Egotistical? Cocky? Essentially thinks he is God's gift to women? That last description might encompass it. He always seems to fall flat with dating, despite his charming little (and suspectedly exaggerated) Scottish accent, but he never seems to understand why. Yup—one of those.
So the Wee Scott was hanging with Dolly, Rowdy, Stella, and I at our favorite bar one night when he started telling us girls about his latest blind date. The Wee Scott was looking for a second opinion after Dolly had given him her take on the night's events (apparently, her assessment was not well received).
Therefore, you are invited to pass your own judgment on the Evalu-date session between my girls and the dating-challenged Wee Scott. I am so sorry that this fantastic dating tale is not one of my own, but the Wee Scott's latest adventure was simply too good a story not to share.
"I just don't understand it—I thought the date went really well," the Wee Scott says to us at the bar, obviously confused. "But now she isn't returning my calls for a second date. What happened?"
"Give us the whole story," presses Stella. "We'll give you the honest-to-goodness female point of view."
So the Wee Scott starts laying out the night's events: "We were set up through a mutual friend; it was what you Americans call a 'blind date.' I decided it would be best if we met somewhere, since we do live a wee bit far away from each other, so I told her to meet me at The Cheesecake Factory at 7:30 p.m. Nothing went wrong during dinner. I'm dressed the part. We're talking, eating, getting to know one another—"
"Tell them what you both ordered," Dolly interrupts, as she gives Stella, Rowdy, and I a wait-for-it look. "Tell them what you had to drink."
The Wee Scott continues, "Well, I ordered a glass of chardonnay and the mahi-mahi. She had water and a salad."
"Ughhhh...," all three of us groan and roll our eyes before he has barely gotten to the word water. Dolly gives poor Wee Scott the biggest I-told-you-so-look.
"What?!? What is wrong with that?" the Wee Scott defensively demands, clearly astonished by our initial reactions.
Rowdy decides to be the one to enlighten him. "Okay, first of all? You took her to The Cheesecake Factory."
I interject, "Is there anything wrong with that though? I mean, it is not anything fancy in this city of gourmet fine dining, but it's not that bad, is it?"
"It wouldn't be that bad," Dolly points out, "if said Cheesecake Factory was not in the middle of a mall."
"Ewww, yeah, for real. You aren't in high school," Stella chimes in, wrinkling her nose.
Rowdy continues, "Word. So you are starting out two feet in the hole. Then, you gotta go seal the deal and order chardonnay. Stella and DD—when a guy orders a glass of chardonnay on a date, what do you think?"
Stella and I look at each other, then back at Rowdy. "Gay," we say in unison.
"Exactly. Make that six feet under. And then—she orders water. And a salad."
"Why is that a bad sign?" the Wee Scott inquires.
"Obviously, she isn't planning on stretching this date out—she is trying to get out of there as fast as she can."
"Oh, it gets better. He asks if she wants dessert, and she says no, so instead of asking for the check—like an intelligent guy would—he goes ahead and orders another glass of wine and the chocolate cheesecake! So this poor girl is stuck there watching him eat dessert, too! Oh—and tell them how she got home," Dolly says gleefully, as Stella and I struggle to stay in our seats from laughing. Rowdy is now looking at the Wee Scott as though he's a moron.
The Wee Scott was starting to look slightly defeated—but not quite: "Now, I know there is nothing wrong with that. Come on now!" We have all managed to compose ourselves sufficiently and are now on the edge of our seats in anticipation. He sighs. "Okay, fine. I offered to drive her home, but she said no. See, she works for this courier service, so she was just going to have them pick her up and take her back to her house. I'm sure she just wanted it to be more convenient for me!" he insists.Poor, poor Wee Scott. We all laughed, and we laughed, and we laughed... and he just sat there, stupefied, but also looking a bit amused because he definitely had no idea why it was so obvious that she would reject his attempts for a second date. He seriously did not have a CLUE as to the fact that she clearly wasn't interested. Go figure. And apparently, these are the needles in my dating haystack...I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised that my dumb luck is winning out.
Lesson #4 in Post-Divorce Dating: When your blind date would rather be couriered home than ride in a car with you, it is safe to say that a second date is probably not going to happen—so go ahead and have that second glass of chardonnay while you're at it.
Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée
