Date #5: The Big Bag

He brought a purse.

Granted he also brought a convertible, but he brought a purse.
Granted I didn't see the purse until we got to the mall, but he brought a purse.
Granted he didn't seem that gay at first, but he brought a purse.
Granted he wasn't a bad guy, but he brought a purse.
Granted you could say it was just a large plastic bag with giant 'F's on it that only a woman from Boca Raton would carry...but he brought a purse.

It was supposed to be a long date. We had talked and clicked right away...it seemed...so as is the usual flaw of gays, we got excited fast and planned like an 8-hour-epic date that turned into a two and a half hour wonder-if-I-can-stilll-catch-that-movie-with-my-friends kind of date.

We went to the mall--and on the way I thought--wow, I'd love to date a guy in a convertible. It was so cool driving around in it especially since the weather was so beautiful. On the way, we were doing well, talking about stuff we like.

HIM: Favorite food?
ME: Oh my gosh, anything with pasta. Everywhere I go I order pasta, it's nuts.

He decided we should go to a restaurant on the bottom floor of the mall. What one does he pick? Smokey Bones. What's the one type of food Smokey Bones doesn't have?

Pasta.

Who the hell does not put any kind of pasta dish on their menu? I'm only 1/4th Italian but even I find that enraging. To make matters worse, this is when "the bag" appeared. He apologized for it, but that certainly didn't make it any less Andy Warhol.

While we were eating he started talking about guys.

HIM: Do you know [Name of Guy]?
ME: Yeah, I met him once I think.
HIM: Me too. We fooled around for awhile and then I stopped calling him.

Who teaches gay men to have conversations? Cinemax?

After eating we went back to my house and I offered to let him go in my pool, but he didn't seem interested. I remember saying something and punching him playfully in the shoulder. He looked down at where I punched him then up at me.

HIM: I don't do ANYTHING on the first date.
ME: (Bewildered.) I just punched your arm a little.
HIM: I know but I'm not touchy feely AT ALL!
ME: Okay, sorry.

We started talking again and I thought--Okay, maybe I'll just make one more slightly crazy, definitely slutty yet somewhat kind of prude, new incredibly gay friend with a giant bag. This might not be a total loss. Then my Friend texted me. So I checked it.

HIM: Who was that?
ME: Just a friend.
HIM: A guy?
ME: Yeah.
HIM: Is he gay?
ME: Yes.
HIM: You should invite him over.
ME: Uh...why would I do that?
HIM: I don't know. Maybe he and you could do stuff and I could watch.

A N D W E ' R E D O N E ! ! ! ! !

He went home and I decided to go see Pirates of the Carribbean with my friend Trevor--whose straight. It was a thoroughly enjoyable non-date.

FRIEND: So he wanted us to do stuff while he watched?
ME: Yup.
FRIEND: But lightly punching his shoulder was off-limits?
ME: Yup.
FRIEND: So he's into voyuerism?
ME: He could be into Scientology for all I know, I sent him packing.
FRIEND: Was he cute?
ME: He carried a giant plastic bag bigger than my Grandmother's purse.
FRIEND: I'm all set with that.

So apparently, I've found Friend's version of Kryptonite.