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 Okay, so I should have known this guy was creepy from the get-go. Red flags should have gone way up in the air screaming at me when he told my friend the same night we met that "he was going to marry me" and "I remind him of his mom". "Yay...(in a sarcastic tone)" was my response, I'm pretty sure.
After meeting one night at a terrible new "club" in Philadelphia, he gave me his business card and asked for my phone number. Young, naive, and I'm sure drunk, I gave it to him.
About a week later, he called to ask me out for a drink at my favorite wine bar in Rittenhouse. This night had all of the makings of a perfect summer night: a few bottles of Pinot Noir, warm temperature, a few fireflies, and a sidewalk table at Rouge. After a few bottles and fantastic truffled zucchini with feta and braised pork, our seemingly perfect conversation left me flying high on clouds as I went to the powder room.
I came back to find my date looking at me with a face of clear disgust. Little do I know that face was because of an incident that had just taken place when I was walking into the restaurant to use to the ladies' room. While I was walking, three young African American men whistled at me from the corner of the street. I brushed this off as a compliment after living in Philadelphia for so long.
So, I notice this rude face and ask him what was wrong. He simply replied, "Oh, I just could never date someone who attracts that kind of attention."
Cough.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me, that was disgusting. You obviously ask for it."
"So, you couldn't date someone who had someone whistle at them on the street in a major urban city. What if I said I was a quarter Colombian?"
"Oh, I didn't know that. Excuse me while I pay for the bill."
I was so dumbfounded that I simply walked away and met a nice, young man who was also quite in shock of this douchebag after eavesdropping on the conversation and was ironically, a descendant from Colombia.
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Chose your gender!
