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| I lied. You're never too old for unicorns. |
Recently, I stepped through the looking glass in Jessica Simpson heels and a mini dress for a magical date to a Burlesque show. I had met a man in the Emerald City and its monarchy had arranged for him to escort to me to the show. It was an evening of Original Sin, bawdiness, and bass dropping. There was even a chariot ride courtesy of Crescent City Pedicabbie.
Striking up conversation with the pedicabbie, he mentioned being a blogger as well. Excited, I chimed in that I blog as well. Oh really, what do you blog about, he asks. I giggle and respond sheepishly... Bad dates. The pedicabbie lets out a low laugh, glancing over his shoulder at my date, "I hope you aren't one of them."
And he wasn't that night, but it was probably doomed from the moment the pedicabbie gave him well-wishes to remain off of my blog. Or perhaps it was doomed on our next date when he pocketed the best pack of gum out of my "Braces Off Goody Bag."
Regardless, in my short-term giddiness, I thought karma was finally refunding all my previous bad dates. Perhaps he thought he could keep rolling the dice for a more successful check in a higher difficulty class. His roll was moderately successful, granting him one night with an inebriated upgrade at the cost of his comrades and myself. At least I know I have good trade-in value.
That's right, he returned to the Emerald City sans me, and in the home of the people who vouched for him and enabled him to have a magical evening, he decided they would be ecstatic to see him trade in the woman they set him up with for what he determined to be a better one. Proud they were when they told him lose their number and get out.
And so what started as a great and promising date, ended with being humiliated in the home of my friends.
Stay tuned for my video rant about the ensuing madness. That's right. It didn't end there...
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