Another Plenty of Fish meeting for the books today!
Last night, me and my coworker from my day job–who I affectionately call Milf–went out to Bob’s Barn (not the real name of the establishment) for some country line dancing action. I made plans with another Plenty of Fish guy to meet, and we agreed that he’d come up to Bob’s and have a drink.
Milf and I arrived at 9:30, to beat those dreaded cover charges that start at 10. We claimed a table, and sat there chit chatting and people watching while we waited on line dances to start. At 10:30, he showed up. “Pepper?” he said nervously, shaking my hand. Then he grinned. He had horrible teeth. Horrible! It looked like some were missing–and that’s when I realized that in his profile pictures online, all his smiles were closed-mouthed…and this was why.
As shallow as it sounds, it was so hard to ignore that very fact. I couldn’t stop staring at his teeth, or lack thereof. I just couldn’t believe he’d never had braces. I realize that not everyone’s parents will pay for that as a kid, but Toothless was a 27 year old man, and if you know your teeth are bad, you are now an adult and can pay for your own cosmetic work. All orthodontists have payment plans these days. No excuses, buddy. In fact, I know a couple who will be getting married in about two weeks, and the groom-to-be has braces to fix a gaping hole where he had a missing tooth. So there.
Seriously, bad teeth are my number one turn off. This is coming from a lady who goes to the dentist not twice a year, but four times, to have special cleanings done, because I can’t stand the idea of bad breath or my teeth rotting or my gums bleeding.
Unfortunately, the bad teeth turned out to be the least of my worries. He kept making annoying joke after joke. I’d provide examples but they were so terrible I drove them out of my memory already.
Finally, at an opportune moment, Milf caught my eye, and she made an eyerolling gesture at me. I knew she’d be on the same page as me. We mumbled something about dancing and took off to the dance floor, where we two stepped around together for a couple songs. Then, by some sort of divine grace, three or four line dances in a row came on. Since Toothless was not a dancer, it got us away from him for a little while.
By the time we came back, he was ready to go. It was midnight. “I’m sorry for being lame, but I’m tired. Nice meeting you.”
Off he went. Milf and I high-fived as soon as he was out the door. That was kind of our goal–if we stayed on the dance floor, he’d be sitting alone by himself.
I think Milf needs to be my first meeting buffer from now on. If not for her, the awkward would have been about 100 times worse. I was rolling on the floor as she kept talking about her husband (which, BTW, she is legitimately married) with Toothless.
I’ve learned my lesson. Bob’s Barn is my stomping grounds. I go there all the time. I am never inviting a guy to meet me there ever again–at least not a guy that I haven’t pre-screened yet. It almost ruined my fun.
Date rating: 3/10, only because he offered to buy us drinks.