Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Simply put, if he has a “hang-low,” he’s most likely a douche. Yours truly excluded, of course.
Okay, back up. I’m not one of those “I’ve been done wrong by a man, so now I’m forever scorned and jaded” type of guys. Well . . .
In all reality, women can be just as bad or douche-y as those of us with a penis, right? Right! However, it would appear that men are less shy about showing off the infamous quality.
For example, this doctor I once went on a coffee date with was completely shameless about being a large, Grade A douchebag. In short, he was a jackass from head to toe — yes, all five feet of him!
We originally met online, which is more times than not code for we met on a sleazy
hookup dating app . . . So, like I was saying, we met online. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure what his name is anymore. I want to say I’m working with a Lance, perhaps? Okay, fine! His name was Lance – Lance, M.D.
When Lance, M.D. first messaged me, I was sick, trying desperately to get over that dangerous “Vegas” flu. Interestingly enough, and some of you slash most of you (I know my audience) will think I’m an idiot for not accepting the offer, he volunteered to write me a prescription for my cold – no questions asked. Yep! No doctor’s visit, no co-pay, no need to pass Go. It would have been an easy, “Here’s your authorization for Vicodin, or whatever. Please come again.”
If you think about it, it really was a nice gesture, and one I probably should have pursued. I mean, how wonderful to have someone around who has a legit prescription pad in their back pocket? But, I’d ultimately declined.
We’ll just call it an “oopsie whoopsie” on my part. Live and learn . . . or some shit like that.
When the good Doc and I did officially meet, he was ten minutes late. No, he wasn’t saving someone’s life, or anything that important. Come to think of it, to this day, I’m still not exactly sure what type of medicine Lance practices. Hmm. Maybe my best friend is right, and I do need to actually listen when other people talk.
Anywho, Doc just must have been bad at being on time. Not a huge issue for me, considering that San Diego traffic is a real pain in the dick, and he’d even texted me to say that he was running late. Problem solved.
However, cut to the fact that Lance made me pay for his coffee. I honestly didn’t expect him to pick up the $8 tab just because of his profession, except I truly did. Therefore, I was a little thrown. When the bill came, Doc kind of looked at me with a raised eyebrow, so I ponied up. No wonder the rich stay rich.
Next, we got into Lance’s SUV and started for the dog park. He had two large canines in the back (I couldn’t tell you the breed), and thought it would be nice to walk around with the pets and coffee as we got to know each other. Again, nice gesture, except, he then showed me a half naked picture of himself, and for the second time in his presence, I found myself thrown.
I’m not exactly sure what Lance’s motives were for showing me his tanned and toned body. Sure, he had every right to be proud of his six-pack abs. Maybe he was not-so-subtly hinting at the fact that he was out of my league, as my lips were probably still coated with powered sugar from the donuts I’d undoubtedly consumed earlier that day. No matter what he was trying to do, I was immediately turned off. So, perhaps his mission was accomplished.
Things went from bad to shit — literally — when we arrived at the park, and I promptly stepped into dog shit with my Christian Louboutin boots. Fine, that’s a lie. I don’t own Christian Louboutin boots, but I could. Yes, that’s another lie. I can’t afford Christian Louboutin boots. After all, I’m a writer, not a drug dealer.
Finally, we started walking and talking, but the entire conversation seemed to revolve around Doc’s ex-boyfriend. I definitely get it, though. He was clearly still suffering, and most likely using me to try and get over the breakup. I can relate. But, maybe he wasn’t ready to go on a date. Or, perhaps he should have more accurately advertised what he wanted/needed: a one night stand.
Either way, we both knew we weren’t a match for one another, and the “date” ended just as quickly as it had started. This was particularly troubling for two reasons. A) Lance told me that he was getting ready to go to Paris for Christmas, which had originally been his gift to his ex-boyfriend (if I’d played my cards right, could that have eventually been me?) and B) Doc had to drive me all the way back to my car, making for an awkward and silent ride.
Moral of the story, kids: When it comes to dating, always have an exit strategy planned.
As I reflect on this experience, maybe the M.D. wasn’t a douche. Dating is, in a word, difficult. And even though Lance has since found happiness with someone else (I’m pretty good at Facebook stalking) and I’m as single as a dollar bill, I can’t help but wonder if he employed new tactics to win this other guy over.
Oh, hell! I’m not fooling anyone . . . I’m really wondering if I could have made it to Paris! Damn!
Oh, well. I repeat: Live and learn . . . or some shit like that.