The Summer of 2013
Oh, Corbin*. He was my favorite so far. He was very tall (6′ 6″). Good-looking. Older. He owned his own house. He had a great career. He made great money. He seemed to just have his things in order. Well, let me tell you about our first date.
We met on Match.com. He contacted me first, through email. We went to some restaurant near where we both live (we only live about 10 minutes away from each other). The restaurant wasn’t very full. It was kind of a half-a$$ed attempt at a sports bar and grill. I got a huge BBQ burger. Corbin said he was interested to see me devour the huge, messy burger.
Then there was our waitress. Poor girl. She was not very good. And I, being the super nice person that I am, made a snide comment or two to Corbin about her service (and I thought I was being sneaky and quiet). Well, she MUST have heard me be SUPER rude because her manager came over to first ask us how we thought she was doing, and then explain that today was her first day waiting tables and that she was very nervous. He asked for some critique that he could give her. Oh, man. First date. I insult the poor, young waitress. She hears. Her manager talks to us. They probably spit on my burger that night. I felt terrible.
Surprisingly, Corbin wanted to go out with me again the next night. And I agreed – even though my initial impression of him was that he was a little pretentious (and I don’t like when guys wear necklaces – he sometimes wears one).
*Again, Corbin’s name isn’t really Corbin.