Hello, Dear Readers. Welcome to the thrilling conclusion of “My Bad.”
ICYMI: Here’s Part One of My Bad.
Now for the rest of the story…
Our saga had just left off with me speechless with terror at the thought of Mark saying that he wanted to kiss me good night after our catastrophically bad first- and only- date.
OMG.
Now how the hell was our heroine going to get out of this one?
Mark had rushed me through dinner. His haste was so imperative that he didn’t even bother to ask if I wanted dessert.
(I didn’t- but I like to look at the dessert menu. I am a dessert voyeur.)
The bum’s rush was at such odds with Mark’s smarmy comments about my looks and my would-be seductive powers that, finally, curiosity got the better of me.
“Are you in a hurry?” I inquired.
“I have to get back home,” Mark explained. “I live with my ninety-two year old mother and her caregiver is off this evening. She may need me.”
“You’re living with with your mother? Um. Doesn’t that throw a monkey wrench into your social life?” I couldn’t keep the wonder/horror out of my voice.
“No, not really. She’s got dementia. She doesn’t know if I have people over or not.”
“She might not know but isn’t that kind of a buzz kill for the ladies you might want to bring home?” I asked.
(What I was thinking: If there were any ladies who actually want to come home with you.)
“I haven’t had anyone sleep over yet. But it’s been fine when I invite a few people in for dinner. I’m pretty handy with the bar-be-cue. Mom loves my grilled chicken.”
OMG.
Put a fork in me, brother. I’m done.
So in a flash Mark paid the check and the waiter handed me my leftover chicken piccata. (It was only a half order but who could eat?)
We started to leave.
But as we strolled past the bar I noticed that the Cubs/Cards game was playing on the television set. So I stopped to watch a replay of a Cubs’ homer.
While I watched I happened to notice a very cute guy sitting at the bar having dinner.
Adorable, lots of hair, a little younger than me and sporting a pair of very chic ripped jeans. Holes in a few cool strategic places.
I looked at him. He looked at me.
And now it’s game on.
“I really like those jeans. I’d love a pair myself but I don’t know if I could carry it off,” I said to him.
“Oh, you look pretty confident,” he replied, grinning a very handsome grin. ‘You definitely could carry it off,” he reassured me.
“Nah,” I countered modestly. “With this gray hair? I think I’m too old.”
“I’ve got gray hair and I wear them. Nope, you definitely could wear them,” Hottie-At-The-Bar said.
We start talking about the Cubs.
Oh yeah, and did I happen to mention that my real date, the guy who brung me, is just standing around holding his leftovers?
I had more or less forgotten all about him.
But after a few minutes watching me flirt with this total stranger, Mark started to get restless. The Cubs game was over and he wasn’t interested in watching the recap.
He was interested in kissing off my red lipstick.
And getting home to Ma.
And now I really started to sweat it.
“See you,” I reluctantly said to the guy at the bar. “Nice talking to you.”
Hottie looked at Mark. He looked again.
“Well…that guy looks like a… nice guy…?” His voice trailed off uncertainly.
And I thought “I’m not so sure. We’ll see about that.”
EXCEPT…
I didn’t just think it.
I said it out loud.
OMG!
My bad.
I don’t know how it happened. I must have been so nervous at the thought of the good night tussle at my door and I had had such a crummy time and he was just so lame and…
No excuses.
It just flew right out of my mouth.
I was horrified. I don’t usually try to be gratuitously cruel.
I quickly glanced over to see how Mark was taking it.
He seemed pretty non plussed.
Whew.
The car ride home was uneventful. He took a local route and avoided Lake Shore Drive altogether. It was notable, however, for the pounding of my heart and my incessant clutching of my doggie bag.
How the hell was I going to get out of that clinch at the front door?
As we drove down the home stretch Mark said, “When people come to your house for dinner, do they need stickers to park on the street? I see that it is all permit parking around here. How does that work for your guests exactly?”
“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully. ‘The only people who come to my house for dinner either walk or take a cab or Uber. No one brings a car.”
“Well, what if someone wanted to spend the night?”
Thank goodness I could see the welcoming sight of my building up ahead.
We pulled in. I unbuckled my seatbelt. My heart was racing so fast that my hands were shaking.
He got out and opened my door.
We walked to the entryway and then he opened his arms.
I could see daylight. I had a plan.
I gingerly embraced him back.
A very brief hug.
And then I shook his hand.
And then I RAN into my building.
I was sorry that I had blurted out that mean comment but relieved to be home safe and un-kissed.
No more blind dinner dates EVER.
(But I think I’d better study this movie, just in case.)
And Go Cubs!
Ellen, what’s the joke about diving into the shallow end of the dating pool? Guess things weren’t in the Cards, for the Cubs.
Very punny, Doc. And watch how you gloat over this unfortunate incident. I don’t want you to be sorry we Met.
Q: What do some characters in your blogposts have in common with Starlin Castro?
A: They’re out trying to score.
I’m not worried about last night’s little wobble. It won’t be our Cubbies’ last (Tinker to Evers to) Chance.
lives with his Mother, does “Where’s Papa” ring a bell?
Gordon Hocheiser: She’s not just another nurse, ma. It means a whole lot to me, ma. And I want you to know that if you mess this one up for me, I’m gonna punch your fuckin’ heart out. Got it?
Mrs. Hocheiser: Such a nice boy.
You’re right, Mitch! And thanks for my morning laugh. What a great movie. What a bad date.
Ok in honor of the Cubs we’ll stay with the baseball theme. First, you made an ERROR in going out on a blind date, it seems they always throw you a CURVE. The guys all turn out to be SCREWBALLS who seem to come out of LEFT FIELD.
On this date, however, I have to give you credit for your excellent PITCHING OUT OF A JAM as you SHOOK OFF HIS SIGNALS at your HOME BASE. It was obvious he wanted to go for at least a SINGLE (if not EXTRA BASES). But you STRUCK HIM OUT as you CHANGED UP the kiss for a handshake and preserved the NO HITTER.
If you ever again get into that position of being on a bad dinner date, here’s how to MANAGE the situation. RELIEVE yourself from the dinner table, take a SHORT STOP to the rest room, and then RUN, don’t WALK to the nearest taxi to make a beeLINE DRIVE to your home. Let someone else make the SACRIFICE.
Holy Cow! You hit a bases loaded home run here, Steve! You’re Mr. October for sure! Thanks, Ellie Fox
I couldn’t (really!) say it better myself. Very clever Steve!
And Ellen, you should be benched from blind dates!!
But they’re going to retire my number!
Ellen, even this life long Sox fan is pulling for this fun Cubs team and expects them to win it all. The post season is all about chemistry and momentum and they have shown plenty of both. However, After reading the comments above I am a bit worried about you and George. Battling wordsmiths having pun in Cubbieland….scary.
Thanks for the good wishes, Gary. George is from New York. Hence his misguided love for the Mets. This could get ugly! 👏⚾️
What a mess . Good thing you can still run fast. Allan
Yep, I’m can pour on the speed sliding into home. Thanks, Allan.
At least you lived to tell the tale. And I’m not completely joking… images of the “mother” in “Psycho” flash though
my mind.
(And I had to make a joke… sorry about that, but the situation could has escalated rapidly from unpleasant to very serious)
-MAS
Nah, I wasn’t too worried about personal safety, Martin. Thus guy wasn’t dangerous. Only dangerously creepy. But thanks for having my back. (And are you suggesting that I shouldn’t take a shower in his vicinity?) Marion Crane.
Staying on point I can’t believe you gave that
hottie at the bar an Intentional Pass. He could
have been the Designated Hitter.
Just so you recall, I’m a New Yawk guy rooting
for the Cubs. Haven’t forgotten Mexique. I promise
a call soon
Jess
Yeah, yeah, so you say. I think I’m going to have to wait ’til next year.
Where’s Col. Harrington when you need him? Glad you escaped. Sorry you didn’t get the hot guy’s number.
I know, Hopsy! The Colonel was busy giving some little old lady the three-in-one. Love, Jean- it’s really Eugenia.
You did the poor sap a favor. How’s he ever gonna learn without negative reinforcement?
You’re right. I think. But can one really teach an old dog new tricks? The Bitch
Ellen,
I can’t read any more of your posts.
You’ve convinced me that I must have led a very boring life!!!
I’m so phaclempt!!
Say it isn’t so, Joe! I mean Bernie. What will happen to my comments when I run a Johnny Mathis/ Witness For The Prosecution/Camp Ojibwa/Shane post? You are the only man to cover all the bases. Please relent. Mrs. Farblungit
“Farblungit”.
I love it!!!
Anyway, you just made me think of something when you met that guy as you were leaving the restaurant…..
“He should have taken a hold of your sleeve with his hand
And as if it were planned.
He stayed on with you
And it was grand just to stand with his hand holding yours
To the end of the line”…………
Clang Clang! You hit the trolley bell with this one. Love, Frances Gumm