A few weeks ago, I met a guy in between classes on campus. Let’s call him The One I Met in the Elevator. He politely greeted me and wanted to know if I was a professor. (He’s actually the third person who has mistaken me for a professor. Hmm. Maybe I need a makeover.) He was handsome, dressed professionally and spoke with a smooth and sexy accent. I’m a sucker for indigenous accents! He told me that I was beautiful. Yeah, it was a little cheesy but it made me blush. We exchanged numbers when the elevator arrived to my floor. I squealed like a schoolgirl in my head. I was on cloud 9 for the rest of the day!
A week later, we went on our first date. The universe gave me signs to cancel the date beforehand. Everything was going wrong. Every outfit I tried on made me look like a fat cow. Granted, I am full figured but I looked extra fluffy y’all! My car wouldn’t start. My neighbor tried to boost my car with no luck. I was an hour and a half late! I should have called the date off but I didn’t. He seemed like a nice guy from our conversations on the phone. I also felt bad for making him wait so long. He offered to pick me up and I obliged.
In the restaurant parking lot, he got way too friendly with his hands. The nice sweet guy I met in the elevator was turning into a major pervert! He wouldn’t stop complimenting my breasts. “African men love big women. You got it. You got it all.” I felt uncomfortable but I didn’t want to cause a ruckus. What if he left me on the side of the road? What if he became violent? What if he put me in a dried out well and told me, “It rubs the lotion on its skin or it gets the hose again.”
He kept grabbing at my breasts. I pushed him away as politely as I could. After several minutes of this, we headed inside the restaurant.
After we ordered our entrees, the awkwardness ensued. To break the ice, he asked about my last relationship and why it failed. It seemed like a strange question for a first date but I played along to break the silence. When I posed the question to him, he went on a tangent about his ex-girlfriend. His demeanor changed. I saw the anger in his eyes. He said that he gave her everything and she cheated on him. He also said that he wasn’t looking for anything serious—just fun. I’ve heard this song and dance before. Fun=sex. Lucky me! These types always flock to me. Strike 1.
I decided (in my head) that this would be the last time we would meet. He did another strange thing. He tried to go through in my purse! Who does that?! Strike 2! Religion became the next topic of conversation. He told me that he was heavily involved in the church and wanted to know about my religious beliefs. After my response, the date went downhill.
As I braced myself for the backlash I said, “I don’t believe in religion.”
“So you hate Jesus?” he said in a judgmental tone.
“No…I don’t hate Jesus. I’m spiritual…just not religious.”
He gave a 30-40 minute sermon mocking and insulting my lack of beliefs. He also told me that by the end of the date, I would convert to Christianity! By this time, I had enough! I started to feel sick to my stomach. Strike 3! I excused myself to the restroom to calm down and to figure out an exit strategy. Damn! There wasn’t a window like the movies. But then again, none of this voluptuousness would fit anyway. Ha! And I did not bring enough money for cab fare!
I decided to put on my big girl panties! Ok…they were more like medium girl panties. I told him that I wanted to leave because I wasn’t feeling well. He took care of the check and tried to fondle me again inside his vehicle. This time around, I was very stern with him. He found my behavior comical.
“So you’re mad at me now,” he said as he tried to contain his laughter.
“It’s been a long day. I just want to go home.”
“But I can’t drive home like this. You got me so horny. You’re not horny?”
“No. I’m tired. Just want to go home.”
“I’m tired too. Maybe we can get a hotel room?”
“No thanks. Take me home please.”
When we arrived to my apartment, he wanted to know if he could stay for an hour. I declined. Then he suggested 30 minutes. Again, I declined. Then he said the dumbest shit ever.
“I have to hug and kiss you inside your living room. Please. Just 10 minutes. It would make my night.”
I slammed his truck door and went upstairs.
I haven’t heard nor seen him since.
By the way, my car started up the next morning. Perhaps the universe was trying to tell me something.