Drunk and Drunker

dont drink and drive
     Hello, Friends! Welcome to the ongoing saga of “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched.” Today’s dating tales of woe concern two men and their love affairs with alcohol.
     The first bachelor passed the email and phone call tests. When I met him, there were a few red flags, but he seemed fun and easy to talk to. So, against my better judgment, I went on several dates with him.
     He declared that he was working out 4-5 times a week, was living a healthy lifestyle and was going to lose more weight. He had already lost 100 pounds.
     Although I did not observe him making healthy food selections, it was his drinking that bothered me. He did not stop at one or two drinks.
     If you have been following me through this journey, you know I am a one-drink person when I am out, and I am the designated driver. I will not get into a car with someone who is legally drunk.
     During our last date, I met him at his favorite restaurant. This place carried a special type of wine just for him. I learned that on our first date. That was a red flag, but I chose to overlook it.
     He greeted me with a hello kiss. Then he proceeded to tell me how sick he was and how horrible he felt. The congestion in his chest was terrible. He held his chest and coughed. It sounded like bronchitis to me.
     Backing away, I reacted, “Yikes, no more kisses for you until you’re well.”
     He replied, “Oh, you’re one of those.”
     One of those? If you mean people who don’t want you contaminating them with all of your respiratory infection germs, yes, I’m one of those. Be considerate. Good Lord!
     I sighed as I sat across from him.
     Then he coughed and coughed, without covering his mouth.
     I am sure I cringed as I shifted to the right. At least that way he was not coughing directly on me. I mentioned that he should be coughing into his elbow.
     Eventually, he covered his mouth with his hand. But then he wanted me to hold that hand.
     Are you trying to get me sick on purpose?
     Thank God I had antibacterial wipes.
     While he enjoyed his third glass of wine, he saw I was agitated. He asked, “What’s on your mind?”
     Oh, buddy, you just asked the wrong question. I don’t think you really want to know. I’m thinking I’m going to catch this plague you have. And your drinking is bothering me. But since you asked…
      “The amount you drink bothers me. Every time we’ve gone out, except one time, you’ve had a lot to drink. Not just one or two glasses of wine, but multiple glasses. I’m concerned.”
      “I’m not an alcoholic.”
      “Do you drink every day?”
      “I usually don’t go out during the week.”
     Not sure what that had to do with the price of tea in China, I replied, “Well, I won’t ride with a person who’s legally drunk. If you’re always going to drink like this, I will always have to drive.”
     Defensively, he argued, “I am not drunk! Do I look drunk? Do I act drunk? Am I slurring my words?”
      “No.” Because you have built up a tolerance.
     He continued, “My friends drink hard liquor. I drink wine. It’s better. We’re here every Friday and Saturday night drinking at the bar. They drink hard liquor. I drink my wine.”
     Every Friday and Saturday? Drunk is still drunk, dude. Any cop will tell you that. So will a blood alcohol test.
     I stated, “It doesn’t matter what you’re drinking. Alcohol is alcohol.”
     “It’s just wine. And now you’re making me uncomfortable and self-conscious.”
     “Sorry, you asked, and I had to say something because it’s making me uncomfortable.”
     Dismissively, he responded, “You’re making something out of nothing. I’m not an alcoholic. You don’t drink wine, so you don’t understand.”
     What’s there to understand? Wine contains alcohol last time I checked.
     Then he stopped the waitress and asked her for another glass of wine.
     Are you freaking kidding me? Way to show me you don’t have a drinking problem.
     She emptied the contents of the bottle into his glass. This was glass number four.
     As he drank, I got the “you’re not the boss of me” look and vibe.
     I shook my head and ate my dinner.
     I am not trying to be the boss of anybody. But drinking and driving is a serious issue. And I do not want to be with someone who drinks to excess all the time.
     Then he said, “Next you’re going to tell me I can’t ride my motorcycle without a helmet.”
     Heavy sigh.
     Annoyed, I said, “No, you can do whatever you want.”
     Obviously, because nothing I say matters anyway.
     After he drained his glass, he asked the waitress for yet another glass.
     She answered, “I emptied the bottle last time. Do you want me to open a new bottle for you?”
      “Yes.”
     If you are counting with me, this was glass number five.
     Finally, dinner was over.
     After that evening, my texts to him were short.
     He texted, “So I’m assuming by your lack of communication and enthusiasm, you’ve lost interest and can’t get over my evil wine drinking ways.”
     You guessed right! That and your complete disregard for my welfare by spewing all over me and for not understanding why I would not want to put my life into the hands of someone who was legally drunk.
     I wrote, “You disregarded my concern completely. I understood finishing the glass in front of you. Then you had her open another bottle. And you got defensive and dismissive. I can’t handle being with someone who drinks 5 glasses of wine in that short amount of time and disregards my feelings.”
      “Actually it was 3 glasses and that hardly makes me an alcoholic…I wasn’t trying to dismiss you by ordering another glass but I was trying to make a point that I’m 52 years old and I’m pretty set in my ways.”
     I was not going to argue about the number of glasses or about anything else for that matter. I was drinking water and clearly counted five glasses of wine.
     So that was the end of that!

     A friend attempted to help me in my quest for “Mr. Right.” She invited a friend, an extremely wealthy businessman, to meet us for drinks and a light dinner. We were sitting at the bar when he showed up three sheets to the wind.
     Obviously, that was extremely disappointing, in and of itself.
     And did I mention that he looked older than my parents? So, he had nothing working in his favor.
     I was polite at first. But after I had heard the exact same story for the third time, I was mentally done. I tried to ignore him the best I could, but he kept hanging on me.
     I caught the eye of a young, handsome guy a few seats away. I gave him my “help me” look. He laughed and looked away.
     Damn!
     Without another option, I disappeared to the ladies’ room. And I stayed in there entirely too long. When I returned, “Tipsy” was sitting in my chair.
     Thank you, Jesus!
     I quickly sat next to the handsome guy.
     He looked up at me and smiled.
     I smiled back. “I need you to save me.”
     “I know. I saw the look.”
     Exasperated, I threw up my hands. “But you didn’t save me.”
     “Trust me, we’ve got your back.”
     “Who’s ‘we’?”
     “As soon as you left for the bathroom, I watched your drink. I was convinced that guy was going to put something in it.”
     “Really?”
     “Yes. He looks like that kind of guy. A real creeper.”
     I laughed.
     He continued, “And the bartender is watching out for you too. And the piano guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night.”
     “Good to know I’m covered. Thank you.”
     “Don’t mention it.”
     He wore a wedding band.
     Of course, the gorgeous ones are always married!
     I said, “I know that you’re married, and I’m not hitting on you. I just need someone to talk to until he leaves.”
     “No problem.”
     We had a nice conversation. And when his wife and teenage daughter showed up, he introduced me to them. He explained the story. His daughter got wide-eyed when he said he thought the guy was going to drug my drink.
     Glad I could provide a teachable moment. Hopefully, she’ll remember this when she goes to parties.
     This nice family even asked me if I wanted to join them at a booth for dinner.
     “No, thank you. I don’t want to intrude.”
     “If you change your mind…”
     I shook their hands. “Thank you.”
     My friend and Tipsy went out to smoke.
     The bartender said, “You look like you could use that dessert now.”
     I nodded. “Yes, please.”
     I ate my chocolate dessert and talked to the bartender and the pianist.
     Finally, it was time to leave.
     My leather jacket was on the back of the businessman’s chair. He insisted on helping me with it.
     As he slipped on the coat, he commented, “Oh, the leather is so soft.”
     Then he reached around and grabbed my right breast.
     Let me tell you something, dear readers. I have never, ever hit anyone. But at that moment, I really wanted to hit him.
     It took every ounce of strength I had within me not to hit him.
     I hear you screaming, “Why the hell not? Hit him! Slap him! For God’s sake, knee him!”
     I was almost a head taller than him. He had been drinking steadily since he walked in. So, he was drunk as a skunk and unsteady on his feet. And I knew that if I hit him, his sorry geriatric ass would go down hard, very hard. And with my luck, he would have broken a hip. Then he and his army of lawyers would have had me arrested.
     Friends, I would not do well in jail. Not for a single minute.
     Instead, I will let karma take care of him. He will get what’s coming to him in the end.
     In the meantime, I might kill him off in one of my books. Or not. I guess you will have to buy my next novel to find out…

If you or a loved one has a drinking problem, please get help. Here are a few organizations that can help you on the path to wellness.

AA http://www.aa.org/
Al-Anon http://www.al-anon.org/
SADD http://www.sadd.org/

Copyright © 2016 by Suzanne Purewal

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Calling All Indiana Authors!

Greetings Fellow Indiana Authors!

I am the coordinator for the Local Authors Booth at the 67th Annual Christmas Gift & Hobby Show, Wednesday, November 9th – Sunday, November 13th, 2016. We still have author slots available.

The show will be held at the Indiana State Fairgrounds, West Pavilion, 1202 East 38th Street, Indianapolis, IN 46205.

This venue has been very successful over the years for local authors to sell their books.

You may sign up for as many time slots as you wish. The prices are: $75 per author, per time slot. The fee includes a linen-covered 5 ft table, one chair, storage space, the website feature, an author’s badge, an exhibitor helper’s badge, a parking pass, and two tickets for friends/family. The badges and parking pass are good for free entry for the entire five days of the show. If you need an extra chair, there is a one-time $10 charge.

If you are interested in participating in this event, email me at purewalpublishing@gmail.com, and I will send you the application form.

Although I will accommodate as many authors as possible, there is limited space.

I look forward to working with you! If you have any questions, please contact me.

Thank you!

Suzanne Purewal

The Midwest Blues

     In honor of National Poetry Month, I will post some of my poems.

     This is a poem that I wrote for the Noble Writers’ Group. Each month there is an assignment. This assignment required us to write about a man and a woman meeting for the first time. We also had to use the words airplane, tractor, ocean, city and coast. And for some reason, I wrote it from the man’s point of view. Enjoy!

tractor

The Midwest Blues

While I was riding along on Bessie, my old trusty tractor,
I came across a beauty of a woman. I had to swerve, so I didn’t smack her.
She gasped, “Oh my!” And I pulled over to the side.
She smiled and kindly asked if I could give her a ride.
“Sure ‘nuff. Where to my fine, fair lass?”
“To the closest city where I can order a tall, cool sassafras.”
“I know just the place. It’s up yonder, beyond the hill.”
“Get me there quickly, and I promise you a memorable thrill.”
I threw Bessie into gear and wished she would sprout wings.
Along the way, the temptress whispered in my ear unrepeatable things.
I delivered her as promised to the Land of Good and Plenty Grill and Bar.
After quenching her thirst, she stormed the stage and commandeered a guitar.
She grabbed the microphone and then she did boast
About how big of a music star she was on the West Coast.
“I opened for Jefferson Airplane and was a backup singer for Billy Ocean.
And here I’m stuck in the Midwest amid the cornfields and Amish in Goshen.”
Then she started to sing and her voice was the sweetest I’d ever heard.
And when she strummed the last chord, no one spoke a word.
However, the applause was thunderous and filled her with delight.
She approached me and said, “I promised you an unforgettable night.”
We disappeared and true to her word, for the next hour she rang my bell.
The devil’s in the details. However, a true gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.

Copyright © 2011 by Suzanne Purewal

It’s Hard to Be Arm Candy

     Welcome to the next installment of “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched.” Today’s story involves a bachelor about whom you have already read. I believed he was worth a second chance. However, that chance was short-lived. It was nice while it lasted.
     In life, timing is everything. Right now, he admitted his schedule is not conducive to dating. That is a gross understatement. And so, he broke my already-wounded heart.
     I will not say anything bad about him. He is a great guy, and he apologized. We are still friends. So this article is more about my experience at this party than about him.
     I never revealed to him how I felt. So, it might surprise him if he reads this. As the saying goes, if you don’t have something nice to say, then don’t say anything at all. But, hell, I write a blog, so I have to write something!
     This bachelor and I attended a large social function together. The food was fantastic, and the live band was really good.
     As the event progressed, everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. Everyone except for me, that is.
     Let’s say this event was industry-specific. And honestly, it is a field in which I have little interest. Normally, I would make small talk. That’s easy enough to do, right? People are people. Lord knows I can talk about anything. However, the other attendees were not into small talk. They were laser-focused on their field. Period.
     When I was introduced to people, they seemed disinterested since I was not part of their “inner circle.” The only question I received from a few of them was, “Do you have any children?” When I answered, “No,” that was the end of the conversation. Seriously. End of conversation. They turned to engage someone else in a discussion. Time is money. Money is time.
     What planet am I on that the only question anyone wants to ask me is that one? I have no children. Ergo, I am not worth talking to. Yikes!
     I have a lot to offer, thank you, very much. I have plenty to say and have a myriad of great stories, just ask me something else. Anything else!
     I felt as if I had developed a superpower instantaneously—I became totally invisible! Since I did not add any perceived value, I was not worth their time.
     Mind you, I had an opinion of what they were discussing, but since I was not a player, my opinion would not have mattered. So, I kept my mouth shut. Picture that if you can.
     For some time, I smiled and paid attention to the discussion. However, as time wore on, I surrendered. I allowed my mind to wander as I smiled and nodded at what seemed appropriate times.
     I watched a child torment a bug in the grass. I saw an older man nod off, only to have his wife poke him and wake him up. I watched one of the waiters fill cups of lemonade and iced tea and line them up on a table. He dutifully replaced them when a guest would walk off with one. There were twenty-one cups. I wondered why he did not choose an even number.
     I spotted a trail that went off into a wooded area. I desperately wanted to slip away and explore where the path led. But I decided that would be in bad form. Instead, I remained glued to my seat.
     Then, I counted the tent poles and estimated the tent to be approximately 1300 ft x 40 ft. I did not hazard a guess on height because of the varying heights from the edges to the center. If I had a pen and paper, I might have been able to figure it out mathematically. Not. I was not that bored!
     In all of my forty-six years, this is the first time I have ever been excluded to the point that I felt like arm candy.
     Good Lord, being arm candy is a tough job! I had no idea! And I didn’t even suffer through a boob job, tanning sessions, liposuction, or Botox injections.
     As a child, my parents always told me I could do anything. Well, I learned in first grade that I would never be a gymnast or an athlete of any kind. Obviously, over the years, I discovered other things I could not or would not do. Being arm candy just got added to the list. Pole dancer is on that list too. But I will save that story for my next blog article.

Copyright © 2015 by Suzanne Purewal

Featuring Photographer Michael Ahlrichs

     Today I am featuring a guest blogger, photographer Michael Ahlrichs. I recently came across some of his work and found it to be breathtaking. I asked him if I could feature him and he agreed. I hope you check out his work at http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/michael-ahlrichs.html or on Instagram https://instagram.com/michael_ahlrichs/

     This is one of my favorite photos in his collection. It’s entitled, Divine Reflection. divine-reflection-michael-ahlrichs

     Here is Michael’s story in his own words.

     As an iPhone photographer, I am compelled to tell a narrative, a representation of my recent journey in life. My story documents a path that has taken me from hopelessness and despair, fueled by addiction, to a being whose life has blossomed into one of joy, hope and restored faith in God.

     God has breathed new life in me, a divine spark. He has inspired my eyes and my spirit. Through this transformative nudge from God, I have the desire and responsibility to explore the beauty of His divine tapestry, and capture it through my lens.

     My photography was once a solitary practice, fearful of judgment and inferiority. Through my awakening, I now believe that my talents and experiences are intended to be shared, and maybe even offer hope to someone else who may be struggling.

     Now that my eyes and spirit have been awakened, my faith restored, and my addiction and fear overcome, I share with you my journey through my lens.

Cocktails With Chaos

Cocktails with Chaos
It’s the last call on my ride with chaos. What have I done, concocting my life in this giant, rusted tumbler?

Awakened

Awakened
The gates have opened; it’s time to cross the threshold. My dreams are now accessible. With my mind, body and spirit arisen from the nightmare, clarity and purpose lie ahead.

The Path

The Path
A beautiful garden awaits me if I merely follow the path. Peace and serenity are steps away.

The Promises

The Promises
I have faith that this is the right path. I follow this path so that I may continue to be happy, joyous and free. It is a glorious and inspiring path, full of miracles.

Profile photo

     To discuss my IPhone photography techniques or my recovery, you may contact me at michael.ahlrichs@gmail.com.

My Big, Fat Greek Tragedy

MasksComedyTragedy     If there was any doubt that my life is a Greek tragedy in the making, this episode of “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” should solidify the notion in everyone’s minds.
     This installment’s bachelor is a well-known businessman in this area. So, all I will say is that he was in his early 50s and had blond hair and blue eyes.
     Initially, when he contacted me, I turned him down. One of the descriptors in his Match profile did not sit right with me. And I explained in my reply that descriptor was why I was turning him down.
     He wrote me a long email in return, clarifying his position and dispelling any incorrect impressions I had. His arguments were good ones. So, I agreed to talk to him.
     We talked and hit it off. We wanted to meet. However, he was in Florida vacationing with his kids. We would meet when he returned. Despite him being on vacation, we spoke every day.
     Then, my dad had a heart attack. So, I was driving to New York as this intriguing man was about to drive back to Indiana.
     God just loves messing with me.
     My potential suitor understood, and we kept talking on the phone.
     Finally, we were in the same city at the same time. So, after talking for almost three weeks, we met for dinner. We got along splendidly. Our likes and dislikes were the same in just about all areas, including politics and religion. That, in and of itself, was amazing.
     He grew up on the East Coast, just like me. Loved to travel. Loved live theater and musicals! Yes, musicals! Where had he been hiding all of this time?
     Well, most of the time, he was working, networking or attending his kids’ activities. He had the busiest calendar I had ever seen. He could not plan out more than a week ahead because meetings and events were constantly being added to his schedule by his assistant and his kids. But he swore he would make time for me. And he did try.
     In the days that followed, we talked for hours on end, about everything and anything. The conversation never got stale or boring. The more we got to know one another, the more perfect we seemed for each other. The similarities were uncanny.
     Drinking and smoking were not issues. Awesome!
     His children were older. Another bonus.
     He had no pets and had no intention of ever owning one. Thank you, Jesus!
     Pinch me already!
     Anyway, everything was going pretty well until it was time to meet his friends. That’s when the bottom dropped out.
     While Mr. Seemingly-Perfect did not have any pets, every single one of his friends did. These friends were his work colleagues as well as his personal friends. He spent almost all of his time with these people. And from what he told me about them, they were the best friends a person could ask for. I’m sure I would have agreed.
     But the conundrum was that they all entertained in their houses. You know, where the animals lived.
     If you have not read my previous posts on the subject, my allergic reaction to animals is anaphylactic. So, I can not be around animals. Extended exposure to them could literally kill me.
     Meeting his friends out at a restaurant would have been fine. I suggested that. But in the long run, that would not have been feasible or sustainable, as they all loved to entertain at their homes. Each had an elaborate backyard oasis, fire pit, and/or boat, etc.
     Then there was his buddy’s lake house. I absolutely love lake houses because I love sitting by a lake, looking out at the water and listening to the water lap up on the shore. And there’s nothing quite like watching the sun rise or set over the water.
     That’s one of the biggest things I miss about living in New York. I really miss being close to a large body of water. Growing up minutes from Lake Ontario was a luxury I did not fully appreciate until I moved to Indiana, land of small, man-made lakes. But I digress…
     Alas, there were always animals at his buddy’s lake house. The owner brought his pets and allowed everyone to bring their pets too. Well, just shoot me now and put me out of my misery.
     I could not in good conscience ask him to pick between me and his friends. He’s known some of them for over twenty years. If I kept him from them, he would become resentful. And I would feel guilty.
     And if he always went over to his friends’ houses and to the lake house without me, I would become resentful. And presumably, he would feel guilty.
     We discussed the situation rationally. No compromise was suitable, and he picked his friends.
     I will not lie. I am extremely disappointed. But let’s face it; I could never compete with them, the lifestyle to which he had grown accustomed, the boats and the lake house.
     How pitiful is that? We can’t have a relationship because of other people’s pets.
     Heavy sigh.
     Animals are truly the bane of my existence.

Copyright © 2015 by Suzanne Purewal

Dysfunctional Dates Abound

dysfunction     This is another dysfunctional installment of my online dating series, “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched.” Polite social interaction appears to be going the way of the dodo bird. There is no good way to ease into this, so, let’s jump right in!

     The first bachelor, a 54-year-old IT professional, passed the email test, but failed the phone conversation test miserably. During the course of the conversation, he brought up the subject of sex.
     He clearly stated his view on the subject, and I quote, “By the third date, a woman should be ready to give up the goods.”
     Where do I start with this? Even if this guy bought me three very expensive dinners at St. Elmo’s, I would not consider that appropriate criteria to have sex.
     And goods??? I’m sure he would have wanted the entire package of “goods and services.” Let’s face it, in the sex department, the goods aren’t quite as enjoyable without the accompanying services.
     Nevertheless, this girl and her “goods and services” are worth a lot more than three dinners, even if decadent desserts are included!

     Next up was a 52-year-old executive at a large company in Indianapolis. He actually passed the phone interview, but live, he was a completely different person.
     I have nicknamed him, “The Negative Bachelor.” The restaurant was too warm. The fire made the air too dry. He asked the waiter questions about the precise origin of the seafood. The poor kid had no idea.
     Dude, if you want the salmon, order the freaking salmon.
     Then he substituted the sides. Not because of an allergy or health reason, but because, “the chef obviously doesn’t know how to pair sides with entrees.”
     When the food arrived, he complained that his potatoes were too lumpy. The carrots were too soft, the squash was too hard. His chardonnay was not as good as the chardonnay he had last week.
     My mahi-mahi, wherever it was from, was fantastic. I loved my lumpy mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables.
     To my surprise, he insisted on ordering dessert. Why? I don’t know. He did not enjoy the rest of the meal. So, I did not understand why he wanted to perpetuate the experience. He ordered cheesecake.
     Guess how that turned out.
     It was not as good as the cheesecake he had had in New York City the previous month.
     I gazed into the fire, which under different circumstances might have been romantic, and attempted to drown myself in the chocolate dessert I ordered. It was delicious. I scraped my plate to savor every drop of chocolatey goodness. Alas, not even the chocolate could make up for the bad company.

     A well-intentioned friend set me up on a blind date with a guy she knew. He was my age, and he looked okay in a picture she showed me.
     He walked into the restaurant wearing a baseball hat, chomping on a piece of gum. The hat never left his head. And the gum chewing was distracting, to say the least. Finally, he took the gum out of his mouth. My praise to God was short-lived.
     There are a myriad of things you can do to dispose of chewed gum. You could dispose of it prior to meeting your date for the first time. Or, you could excuse yourself to the men’s room and throw it away in there. Or, you could dispose of it in a napkin.
     Did he do any of those? Unfortunately, no.
     Instead, he removed the gum from his mouth and stuck it on the side of his drinking glass. Then, he proceeded to play with the gum like it was Silly Putty. And when he was finished eating, wait for it — he put that same piece of gum back into his mouth.
     I can only imagine that the look on my face mirrored the utter and complete dismay and disgust I felt. Too bad no one took a picture of me. It would have brilliantly captured that Kodak moment for sure.

     Moving on to a seemingly, happy-go-lucky bachelor of 50 years. He readily admitted that his mood was due to his habitual pot usage.
     Ugh. “I don’t do drugs, and I don’t want to be around anyone who does.”
     “I’ve been doing it for as long as I remember. But for you, I’d give it up.”
     Uh huh. “Sure.”
     Then with his next breath, he said, “You should try it though. You’ll like it. It will make you more creative.”
     I refused, “No. I have no desire to. Never have, never will. I’m creative enough.”
     “It will make you more creative than you ever imagined. You don’t know what you’re missing. All the great artists do it.”
     “I’m not missing anything.”
     “You know, sex is only good if you get high beforehand.”
     What??? “If you have to get high to enjoy sex, you’re not doing it right.”

     So far this year, there has been a plethora of overbearing, controlling bachelors. All of the men were in their fifties. Yeah, I was on an older guy run for some time. I ran out of forty-somethings without any pets. I am not sure if the over-fifty statistic has anything to do with it, or if it was just coincidence.
     The common theme was the men telling me all of the things that I should and/or need to do. Here are a few, in no particular order.

     “You need to learn to play golf.”
     “I’m not really interested in golf. I have other interests. It’s great that you play golf with your college buddies so often.”
     “You need to learn. I play golf, so you need to play.”
     “We have different interests. We don’t have to do everything together.”
     “Yes, we do.”
     Thinking he was joking, I laughed and responded, “No, we don’t. But I could drive the golf cart.”
     Sternly and slowly, he said, “You’re not hearing me.”
     Oh yes, I am, Mr. Control Freak. Yikes!

     “You should join my gym. It’s the best one in the city.”
     “I exercise at home.”
     “That’s not good enough. You need to join the gym, so you can get buff.”
     “I’m happy with my body the way it is.”
     “You have areas of your body that need improvement.”
     Excuse me???
     I will be the first one to admit my body is not perfect. But I do not need a man telling me that my body needs improvement on a first date.

     “You should wear higher heels.”
     “I’m comfortable in these.”
     “I like higher heels.”
     Then you wear them. “These are the highest ones I have.”
     “You need to buy higher ones. You’d look sexier.”
     I laughed, “Trust me, I wouldn’t. I am not graceful in four-inch heels.”
     Looking at me very intensely, he whispered, “Babe, your feet would never touch the floor. Ever.”
     Not exactly appropriate first date conversation. And I hate being called, “Babe.”

     “I want to throw you on the back of my Harley and head down to Brown County.”
     “Brown County is beautiful, but I don’t ride motorcycles.”
     “You just need to try it.”
     “Already tried it. I rode on one once. I didn’t like it at all. I won’t do it again.”
     “I’ll change your mind. Guaranteed.”
     “Sorry, you won’t. I like road trips in a car. Those are fun – rain or shine.”
     “You’re just a stuck-up bitch, aren’t you?”
     Heavy sigh.

     These examples are just the tip of the iceberg. Time and time again, polite conversation is nowhere to be found. And men continually attempt to pressure me to do something I am not interested in doing.
     Why do these men feel as if they have to force women to do or like everything they do? I am sure Dr. Phil has done plenty of shows on this subject. But it still baffles me.
     I do not try to force my interests and hobbies on anyone. I would never dream of it. We are all individuals. We do not have to be identical on everything.
     Potential mates should have similar mindsets. That way, we can appreciate each other’s likes and dislikes to discover things to do together as a couple.
     The problem with online dating algorithms is that they can not analyze mindsets. Hence, my ongoing conundrum.

Copyright © 2015 by Suzanne Purewal