I once went on a date with a rabid wolverine… disguised as a man.

 

I didn’t initially suspect that he was pretending to be something that he was not; maybe I was too innocent at the time.

 

I don’t really have a physical “type” of guy that I prefer, but I absolutely swoon for intelligent men.  The man in question had 2 Master’s degrees.  Bingo! I was totally in.

 

He suggested we meet for dinner at one of my favorite pubs, not far from where I live.  I loved the suggestion and was genuinely excited.

 

We happened to be parking at the same time and walked to the pub together, he was a little shorter than his profile had indicated, but I’m 5’3” so it really wasn’t an issue.

 

When we sit, he tells me to order anything that I want.  Very generous, I thought, how nice.

 

When the waitress comes around, she tells about the Happy Hour specials, which include potato skins.

 

Nothing unusual about that, you might say.  Right?  Most bars and restaurants serve potato skins, they are EXTREMELY common.

 

Well not to Mr.2masters. 

 

He stares at her quizzically,  “I’ve never had potato skins before.”

 

The waitress convinces him that he MUST try them, making some vague promises about their deliciousness.

 

I’m not a potato skin hater, they’re okay, however I do not consider them a delicacy.

The potato skins arrived, Mr.2masters enjoyed them heartily.  I like a guy that has a hearty appetite.

 

I ordered lamb stew and a porter, he ordered a club sandwich.  As we waited, he told me everything that was wrong with the American education system and various other societal problems as he saw them.

 

I started disconnecting.

 

The date began to rapidly slide down the slope of no return when he began to eat his club sandwich.  He held half of the sandwich in both of his hands and proceeded to bury his face in it, not coming up for air until it was gone and his face smeared with mayonnaise and little bits of turkey and lettuce.

 

I was hardly able to eat my lamb stew (which I love).  I finally pushed my plate away and focused on my beer.

 

When he took a breath between sandwich halves, he encouraged me to drink more beer, or anything else I wanted, maybe a shot? 

 

I declined and asked the waitress for some water, I think I saw my horror at his table manners reflected in her expression.

 

Once he finished assaulting the sandwich and inhaling the fries he says while looking down at his food-covered hands “I think I need to go wash up.”

 

I nod in agreement.

 

While he’s gone to the restroom, I briefly consider bolting, to my car? No, he’d spot me before I got away… to the vacant building across the street where I could be murdered in the darkness?  That sounded preferable.

 

However, I’m not that kind of girl, and I stayed.  In my mind, I thought, pay the tab and we’d part.

 

Wrong.

 

He returns to the table, freshly scrubbed, looking mostly normal, and begins to encourage me to drink more.  I was sensing a theme.

 

The restaurant was really crowded, so I suggested that we leave.  Once on the sidewalk, I hoped we would bid our farewells, when he suggests we walk to the policeman’s memorial at the end of the street.

 

My brain was telling me to just get in my car, but he had just bought me dinner and I didn’t want to be rude (yes, I know this is how people get murdered, because of politeness).

 

We walked down the street and he suggested we sit on a bench… I can’t even count how many mistakes I was up to at this point… so I sat down.

 

I’m a history nerd, so I started telling him what I knew of the policemen that were memorialized… trying to fill the awkward silence.

As I’m talking, possibly incoherently, he bends down, in what looks like an attempt to tie a shoe, and runs his hand up my bare calf, then sits up like nothing happened.

 

I am now silent.

 

Then, he takes his open palm and rubs my head.  If you’ve never had your head flat-palm-rubbed in some bizarre attempt at seduction, consider yourself lucky.

I quickly stood up, proclaimed that I was cold and tired (it was July) and I must go home, immediately.

 

He walked me to my car, gave me a hug and I thought that it was all over.

 

A few weeks without contact, I felt like he got the vibe that this thing would not work out.  Until, he texted me…

 

I said “I thought you also felt that we weren’t a good match.”

 

He replied “I was just interested in being intimate with you.”

 

“Uuuuummm…. About that…. No.”