Get down girl, go head get down

I have failed miserably at pretending Gigi is with me on dates, forcing me to be agreeable and sweet. If I go on a date with a guy I’m actually friends with, I do all right (and I also don’t write about it afterwards). But when I go on internet dates, I am like a wrecking ball.

Consider Mitch. He asked me out over the interwebs. When I clicked on his profile, I was greeted by pictures of him hiking Kilimanjaro, Everest, and whatever that mountain in Antarctica is called. Also, his favorite hotspots are in other countries and his pictures included photos of his multiple houses. I hated him immediately.

“I’m sorry, I cannot go out with you,” I typed. “You are too old. And also kind of braggy.”

Unlike most men, however, Mitch responded with a good deal of graciousness, which put me in my place. After that, I really had no choice but to go out with him.

In my lengthy and illustrious dating career, I have found that I prefer to meet people at Starbucks. That way if it’s terrible, it’s like an hour out of your life and you’re done! Also, because there’s a Starbucks on every corner, it’s pretty easy to find one. 

Mitch asked me to meet him at the Ritz.

Upon walking in, I immediately felt like a pauper. I wondered if people could tell my dress cost $16. I sat down in the hotel lobby and started grading papers, flatly refusing to go into the lounge until Mitch showed up. I wondered if people were wondering what a schoolteacher was doing in the lobby of the Ritz. Then I wondered if people wondered if I was wondering what they were wondering about me.

When Mitch escorted me to a corner of the lounge, it was quite clear he was at ease in this environment. Unlike I, who, when threatened, swell up to twice my regular size. Since I felt enormously out of place and also like everyone was pegging me for a gold-digger, I’m afraid all my intentions of being sweet and agreeable flew straight out of my head. Fortunately, the man I was with didn’t really care.

“Why aren’t you married?” Mitch demanded.

Interesting. Someone who was as direct as I!

“I was going to be, but then my ex decided to start a commune in his apartment without talking to me,” I said, “So things didn’t work out. Now. What do you look for in the women you date?”

“They have to be Intelligent. Interesting. Hot. And we have to have Chemistry.”

“That’s dumb,” I said. “If you had great chemistry with someone who wasn’t hot, you wouldn’t date her?”

“No. No one would.”

“I would and have,” I said.

“Oh yeah? How’d that work out for you?”

DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“So,” I said, switching tacks, “You have a lot of money. What are you doing for the world?” 

Mitch missed maybe one beat and then said, “Well, recently I’ve been investigating where the best place to invest my resources might be.”

“OOOOOOooooooooo,” I smiled mockingly. “Big deal. You’re investigating it. What are you actually doing to get your hands dirty in the messiness of other peoples’ lives?”

“I really like you!” Mitch announced. “I want to see you again. What do you think?”

“Meh,” I said, "I don't know. Maybe. I'll think about it."

Back at school, people live vicariously through me because they are mostly all married. They began calling me Anastasia. Having not seen 50 Shades of Grey, I assumed they were nicknaming me for a Russian princess, although I could not imagine what that had to do with my dating life. They found this hilarious and decided to call me Romanov instead.

They suggested one of my co-workers ask me out.

"No way!" he said. "She goes out with guys who take her to the Ritz! You know what kinda' Ritz I'd give her? Crackers." 

Crackers are more my style. I can't handle the stress of being a gold-digger. It makes me want to go to the chiropractor.