Okay, I just got off the phone with another guy from the other dating website, and wow. Sometimes, people just...
In the twelve minutes and twelve seconds I spent on the phone with this joker, I estimate the time spent feeling less-that-cordial towards him was ten minutes and forty-five seconds. I'm guessing. It may have been a longer time. He started off by asking if I'd met anyone from the site. I told him I had met someone just that weekend, but sadly, I felt the person wasn't a good choice for me. When asked why, I told him that I feared the individual in question had a degree of autism. He asked if I'd picked up on this during the phone conversations we'd had, to which I replied we hadn't had a phone conversation.
That, I was informed, was my first mistake.
Let us pause, gentle invisible friend, to contemplate how much I adore being told that I've made a mistake. That meeting someone in a public place in daylight for coffee was, in fact, a gross error in my judgement. Oh, how I love to be told that my willingness to meet a new person is flat-out foolishness on my part.
The person on the phone went on to grill me about my sexual history and STD testing. Terrific. I can have this conversation. I do believe I passed that section of the deal-breaker questions; indeed, there were words of faint praise that I answered the questions as accurately as I did. Then Mr. Wonderful went on to ask what my response would be to an accidental pregnancy, given that I'm so foolish as to use only condoms as my method of birth control. Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome not being a usual birth control method, I didn't bring it up, nor did I have the opportunity to speak to the effect chemical methods of birth control have on my system. The odds of my becoming pregnant at this age with PCOS are astronomically low, but we all know this is accurate only so long as God is amused with other things and doesn't need an extra chuckle in the day.
Evidently, even the 1% chance [his number, not mine] that I would be unwilling to have an abortion if such a thing occurred was the end of the romantic road for me.
Good bye. Best of luck to you.
Would this be as flabbergasting to me if I hadn't just finished an uncomfortable but necessary phone call with my ex? For those of you who don't know of him, this is the dreamboat who pursued me like a power forward does a puck during the playoffs, swore to love me forever, joked with my friends in my favorite pub about the engagement ring he would select for me, told me two weeks later, right before my birthday, that we needed to take a "break" until I made a decision on whether or not I would marry him and move to Alberta, and then dumped me because he'd met someone else during that break. The break in which I was to decide whether or not I was going to marry him. Yeah. I was supposed to decide whether or not I would marry him...while he was out taking a swim through the dating pool.
The fact that he told me that he was done with me, since he'd met Next, a mere five days before I had a needle biopsy on a mass in my breast surely has no significance.
Yes, he knew I had a mass and he knew that I was going in for the needle biopsy.
Here's the thing. The only reason I've dipped my toe back into the dating pool myself is because I will not allow the ex to be the last person I date. I won't. I won't do it. And I know there are good men out there. Sure, sure. Most of them are married to my friends and relatives, but they exist. What I do not know is why I keep finding the clowns and jokers I do, instead of one of these decent men.
Ohhhh...I forgot. The Omnipotent Comedian. Thank you. I'll just write that down.