Friday, June 6, 2014

It was Miss E in the kitchen with a pot of chili!

We’re only six weeks into our relationship and already I’m making promises I can’t keep.

That sounds about right.

Mea culpa, dear readers (all half-dozen of you), mea maxima culpa. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you, I’ve just been suuuuuper busy with work lately, but I promise I’ll make it up to you. Forgive me? Thanks, peaches. You’re too good an audience for me and I don’t deserve you.

Now that we got that out of the way, on to this week’s story.

I’ve never really felt like I had a specific type when it comes to guys I’m interested in dating. A brief list of types I’ve gone for in the past:

·      “Cocky…would we call me cocky?” guy
·      “I’m just high (but not literally) on life” guy
·      Stereotypical musician guy x3
·      “If I wasn’t friends with him, I’d think he was a despicable human being” guy

Unlike some people I might mention, I also don’t really have a set physical type either—beards have even begun to grow on me (also not literally) of late. 

Sidebar: No, Joey, your epic, Plays With Squirrels beard does not count. 

I’m sure if I felt the need to construct some sort of elaborate Venn diagram, I might discover certain commonalities, but it’s summer and my brain has no desire to do that kind of analysis while it’s raining out and I’m still in my pajamas at 11 AM.

So way back in the way back during my first foray into the world of online dating, when I dipped my proverbial toe into the relatively safe waters of Catholic Match and I came across Kurt’s profile in which he described himself as “zany,” I thought, “Why not?”

Kurt was a goofball, but less in a dumb frat guy way and more in a quirky verging on dorky way; however, as I’m sure many people would call me quirky, I thought we might be a match.

Kurt and I chatted for a few weeks—he lived in Dallas, whereas I was in Houston at the time. Eventually, he told me he was going to be in Houston, and would I like to get together?

I remember him telling me that he was in town because his grandfather was ill, and I thought it was a bit odd to want to schedule a date in the midst of a family emergency of sorts, but I agreed to meet him for dinner at a Tex-Mex restaurant he chose on the outskirts of my neighborhood.

I got there early and killed the time in my car reading Mindy Kaling’s Is Everyone Hanging out Without Me? on my iPhone, giggling like mad. I walked in the door at 6:30 on the dot, where I looked around awkwardly for Kurt for about a minute before he emerged from behind a screen, sucking down a giant glass of water from a straw and fiddling with his glasses.

There were precisely two other couples eating in the restaurant at the time, and as we sat down, I caught a glimpse of some old Western film projected onto the wall behind him.

In the grand tradition of odd first words on first dates, Kurt’s initial words to me were these: “So…did I ever tell you about my food allergies?”

Indeed, he had not.

He proceeded to tell me that he was allergic to corn. Tomatoes. Chocolate. And peanuts.

His reason for telling me this? Our waitress would soon bring out our complimentary chips and salsa, and he wanted me to feel free to chow down. Because, you know that’s all I want to do on a first date—gorge myself on free Tostitos (and you know, you ONLY get that one basket before they cut you off, no matter how many people are sharing).

While I dipped a delicious, hot-from-the-fryer chip into some pretty subpar salsa, I mentally ran through all of the foods I could never cook for Kurt for fear of sending him into anaphylactic shock. I marveled at the vast number of recipes in my repertoire that hinged upon the robust sweetness of a can (or two) of petite-diced tomatoes. I mourned that sweet corn on the cob as a summertime supper staple would be a thing of the past.  Don’t even get me started on the lack of chocolate I foresaw in our potential future relationship.

I also wondered why the hell someone who is allergic to corn and tomatoes would choose Tex-Mex for dinner.

Our waitress took our order. Kurt ordered what amounted to some sad plain, diced chicken on a flour tortilla—I don’t even think there was cheese involved. I ordered some killer tortilla soup.

Our date lasted forty-five minutes, as Kurt’s quirkiness online proved less endearing in person. When he texted later, I made some excuse, but I fervently hope that Kurt found someone whose dietary needs dovetailed with his.

As for me, I’m going to go whip up some Texas caviar ;)

1 comment:

  1. Food allergies... not a first (or second... or third) date discussion point!

    Chocolate and peanuts? Oh, brother!