My Date with Jay, Believer in Women’s Lib

      I found an email from a men named, let’s say, “Jay,” in my inbox recently.

       “Hi Margo!  It’s Jay.  Remember me?  I was wondering if you’d like to reconnect.”  

         No, Jay.  No, I would rather not reconnect with you.

          I wrote back: “After that magical first date, why wouldn’t I?”

          “Great!  What are you doing this Thursday?”

          It’s a good thing my desk was covered with books and papers, because I was just about to slam my forehead on it.

           Let me tell you the story of my date with Jay.  It wasn’t the worst date I’ve ever had (that would be a tie between the guy who took me to a car show as a “romantic surprise” and another guy who actually told me, over dinner, that he was looking for a girlfriend again because he was tired of seeing escorts.  Yes, he actually said that!), but it was memorable. 

          I met Jay through an internet dating site.  He worked for the New York Public Library system.  He was cute.  His letters were well-written and displayed a little humor.  We batted a few back and forth and then agreed to meet for a spur of the moment dinner.

         “I know a great pizza spot!” he said.

          Pizza!  Pizza sounded like a good idea.  Something casual, where if the date went poorly, we could both get the hell out with a minimum of discomfort. 

           But…I was expecting someplace were we could, you know…sit down.

           I walked past the place twice while looking for it.  It was not a cozy little family Italian pizza place.  

            It was one of those hole-in-the-wall places where you go for a slice at 2 AM after you’ve been drinking all night.  I’m serious.  It was practically a hot dog stand.

           Okay, well….

            Then I met Jay.  Jay was a grown man with a Master’s degree.

            Jay was wearing cutoff jean shorts with holes in them and a pair of flip-flops.  And his feet were gross.  Seriously.  I am talking yellow Frito-talon toenails.  My parrot has better looking feet than this guy.

            I don’t get it.  I shaved my legs for this?  I shaved my legs, put on a pretty sun dress, and did my hair nice…and Jay could not be bothered to put on pants. 

          But wait, there’s more!

          Well, I was already there, so what the hell.  We each ordered pizza and a beer (this was before I quit drinking).

         Jay turned to me and said: “I always go dutch with dates because I believe in women’s lib.”

          There you have it, ladies.  A hundred years of political activism to obtain civil rights, all for equality with men at the $2 pizza stand.  

         I couldn’t even get offended.  I mean, the slice and the beer was only $4.  I just thought it was funny

        “You have a pretty smile!” he said.

         Oh, Jay.  If you only knew why I am smiling…

          Well, I ate the pizza and made an excuse to get away immediately afterward.  I said that I had to make some important phone calls for work. 

          I must admit, though, that as he walked away, I took a photo of his shorts and flip-flops with my cell phone.  I did not think that my girlfriends would be able to understand the decrepitude of the clothing without ocular evidence. 

          When I showed my friend, she snatched the phone out of my hand to look up close: “What was he doing before the date?  Washing his car with a garden hose?  And he made you go dutch on a slice of pizza?”

            “Jessica!” I said sternly, shaking my finger at her, “Jay did it for a noble cause.  Jay did it for feminism.  Jay is an enlightened, progressive man!”

          One of my friends thought it would be a fun practical joke to buy a pair of khakis for Jay at the thrift store and mail them to him at work with a note saying “Every man should own at least one pair of pants,” but I thought that was overkill.  

         Now clueless Jay seems to actually think I would like to go on another date with him.

         I wrote back: “Will you wear pants and real shoes this time?”

        He responded: “Of course!  It’s cold outside!”

         Why did I quit drinking, again?  OK Cupid should give every new member a bottle of scotch or a lobotomy.  There is no other way to survive it.


5 thoughts on “My Date with Jay, Believer in Women’s Lib”

  1. I love bad date stories! My worst was probably either the guy who took me to Hooters (and spent the evening saying how much he enjoyed the “scenery” there) or the guy who actually started crying when he was telling me about his ex who had just broken up with him. Fun times!
    Anne

    1. Oh my gawd, the scenery at hooters! Nooooooo! Shoot me now! What is wrong with these men? It’s fine to be poor and take your date someplace modest, but hooters?!

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