Dear girl I had dinner with in March,
I wanted to take this opportunity to say a few things that I was entirely too shocked to say so very long ago. I wanted to let you know that I appreciated the opportunity to be reminded of why I generally hold the practice of dating in a bit of disdain and why I am so picky when it comes to spending time with people.
You were the attractive, dark-haired beauty with fierce eyes that was shopping at Barnes and Noble, and I was the charming man who was quick to introduce myself with a smile and some light banter about literature. For whatever reason, your personality was not apparent to me at the time and I asked you out to dinner. I had assumed, at the time, that your apparent affinity for reading put you at an advantage for an enjoyable evening. I guess I wasn’t counting on you showing up drunk, 15 minutes late for our appointed meeting time.
Now, please be clear that I am not saying I was wrong, but I am completely unaccustomed to the behavior I witnessed and it was probably my fault that we didn’t hit it off famously that night. I wanted to apologize for that evening, because I did not mean to look so incredulous and upset whenever you loudly commented about how one time you were at this restaurant the food was “fucking shitty” but that how it had “not tasted like ass again” the past few times you had gone.
I am sure that the shocked looks from the other patrons was because they were entirely too uptight and didn’t realize how comparing food to fecal matter in an upscale dining establishment was uproariously funny. At least I assume it was funny, because you laughed so hard you sprayed me with the sip of your water that you were talking through at the time. Don’t worry, I rather enjoyed the act of wiping my face off with my napkin because it gave me the opportunity to hide my face lest I be seen by someone of any importance. This was just the beginning of the fun, I was quick to learn, because it seems that alcohol gives you license to speak freely, unencumbered by such trite and trivial things like manners or courtesy.
At first, I felt bad for our waiter because of the long-winded explanation you gave him on what constitutes good service and the expectations that you had for him that evening. I am now sure that it was a good thing that you did because I rather enjoyed thinking about the saliva, or worse, that was very likely in the food I was consuming. I am sure had you not given him that dire warning about his tip being on the line that he would have ignored us completely. So, again, I must bow you in gratitude.
As dinner progressed, I was more than happy to watch you shovel large forkfuls of food into your mouth. It is always nice seeing food being ground apart up close like that because we so rarely get to see what goes on “behind the scenes” in our own mouths. It is such an appetite bolstering act to chew with one’s mouth open while talking and gesturing with silverware, and I am sure that the old woman who couldn’t stop staring at you was only doing so because she was so transfixed like I was. When you made the implication that I wasn’t eating fast enough and that you were going to “win” I only gave you that dismayed look because I was not aware we had been in a race. The confusion obviously stemmed from the fact that I don’t race girls to “the bottom of the plate” until our second or third date lest I overwhelm them with my sexiness too early. So, again, that was entirely my fault.
As if the night couldn’t have gotten any sweeter, you ordered plenty of alcoholic beverages. When I made that sarcastic comment about me being the one who needed a drink, you didn’t seem to catch my subtle humor and told me that you would “drink [me] under the table” as if I were being completely serious. On second thought, maybe I was. Perhaps the alcohol would have numbed the embarrassing spectacle I was witness to and I would have blissfully forgotten enough where writing this letter would have been impossible. Alas, I was full of mistakes that evening and declined your drinking challenge with a rueful shake of my head and a laugh.
The next part is rather difficult to type but I wanted to apologize for not being as engaging in conversation as I usually am. I definitely feel that I tried to find some common ground and make conversation about anything but what the other girls in the room were wearing, and which couples were “probably going to fuck later” but it was to no avail. Your conversational skills were unparalleled and we made those things the bulk of the dinner conversation anyway. I very much enjoyed listening to you recant the tales of horrible things found in restaurant food by people that your friends know personally. I am quite sure that the maggot infested finger that your friend’s cousin found in her mashed potatoes was a simple mistake by the cook-staff. I was certainly grateful to you for the colorful tale while I was eating my pasta because everything tastes so wonderful when you are imagining maggots and severed limbs.
I don’t particularly have a weak stomach. I am sure I have my topics that bother me more than others but I am by no means a fragile man. Normally I would have, I’m sure, laughed along with you during your tales of horrific restaurant experiences, but it was merely enhancing the feeling I already had about my food that it was probably tampered with by our unreasonable and inept serving staff. Oh, by the way, I loved how you gave the waiter status updates every time he reluctantly came by to check on us before quickly darting away. I am sure he loved hearing about how you were going to deduct from the tip because he wasn’t bringing your drinks to you fast enough or checking on you more often. I am sure he was just intimidated by your vast amounts of knowledge and your dazzling wit. I am sure it was at complete odds with his overwhelming desire to bask in your glowing personality.
When I grabbed the check off the table, I was doing so because I wanted to get the night over with as quickly as possible. Rest assured I was thrilled about paying for all the drinks and the appetizer you didn’t even touch, but I was somewhat taken aback by you loudly saying that I was only paying for dinner because I “wanted to fuck you tonight.” I think that was the farthest thing from my mind, not because I was contemplating beating you over the head with a wine-glass, but because I wanted you so very badly and I was sure that it would take a lot more alcohol to convince you to do it.
Please know that I very much enjoy the company of boorish and vapid sluts who scream insults at serving staff in between giant, gaping mouthfuls of food and I would have done anything to sleep with you that night. Also, let me assure you that I am not at all picky about who I have sex with and I would most definitely want to have the opportunity to get a battery of blood tests the next week to make sure you hadn’t given me any “parting gifts”. Also, I would have very much relished the thought that there would be a possibility I would impregnate you and have the privilege to bring a child into this world with you, and thus tying me to you for the rest of my natural life. As appealing as all those things were, I just couldn’t understand why I wasn’t like every other man on the planet and didn’t jump on the chance to have sex with you. Of course, this opportunity was quickly yanked from me when you realized I had no intentions of following through with your assumptions. I don’t understand why you went from smiling and laughing to scowling at me all of the sudden, but I know you are probably not used to rejection and, again, I have to take full responsibility for that. Obviously, it is something defective with *me* for not taking you home and pounding your insides into liquid puree all night.
Then, in the parking lot when I offered to call you a cab, you looked at me like I was the lamest person alive- and I realize I probably am. Despite all of the obvious benefits of staying on your good side, I said something rather rude to you that I now regret saying. I wasn’t saying that I wouldn’t sleep with you without a stainless steel condom and someone else’s male-equipment, I was just saying that *at the time* it seemed like the necessary conditions for doing so. Walking away while you screamed things at me was gratifying, only because I knew I wasn’t nearly cool enough for someone like you and I had done the right thing by bowing out gracefully.
So, I am now writing this letter for the world to see about something I didn’t really ever want to share with anyone. I can assure you right now that the only reason I kept this night to myself for so long was because I didn’t want anyone to know how I had blown my one shot with the most charming, sexy, and enticing woman in Springfield. I think that enough time has passed now that I can safely laugh about being such a jackass that night, but I still wanted to take this opportunity to apologize to you.
Sincerely,
Scott
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