Blind Date

Recently I was set up on a blind date by a friend of mine. Well, he wasn’t so much a friend as he was an exceedingly friendly car-jacker. After he opened up my trunk to let me out he said “You know you’re kind of cute. Give me your contact info so I can set you up with my sister”. Being relieved that he said that after “You know, you’re kind of cute” I was willing to do anything, so I gave him my business card.


A few weeks later I received a call from the sister; we talked for a bit, and she suggested that we meet for dinner sometime. Having lost my dignity in a tragic lawn-mower accident I didn’t hesitate to say yes. We decided to meet in the most upscale restaurant in our town. She was late, so I ordered a Bloomin’ Onion without her. Then suddenly, she walked in.


She was easily the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in person; bested only by a woman standing next to a stereo in a Best Buy catalog as the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life. I never did find out her name, but I was happy that I was able to find room for the 500 stereos I bought. Anyway….. I digress, back to my blind date. She had it all; lovely legs, a beautiful face, and the elbows of a Greek goddess. We said our hellos and I asked her name, and she told me she was Vanessa (named after her grandfather). We got to talking and we found out that we had many things in common; a love of the smell of gasoline, our collection of clipped Mary Worth comics, and a very similar way of saying the word “Washington” (with the ‘s’ and the ‘n’ being silent). We laughed and conversed for hours, it was so perfect that I knew something was going to go wrong. And it did.


“I need to tell you something that is a bit of an unpleasant subject for me to talk about” she said. “You’re a prostitute?” I blurted out, obviously not thinking clearly. “No, it’s something entirely different” she said, and all I could utter was “Oh” as I stopped reaching for my wallet. “I have horrible anger issues” she continued, “in fact I’m amazed you didn’t react to the knife I stuck in your thigh after that prostitute crack.” “Is that what that is?” I said, “I thought my sciatica was acting up again.” As I pulled the knife out she continued to tell me that for her entire life she’d been in countless fights, alienated everyone she’d ever known, and had been kicked off the ‘Price is Right’ for attempting to impale Bob Barker on the Plinko board. She asked if I could handle her and her mood swings, and I said “No”.


I was actually going to say “No problem”, but before I could finish the “o” part she was up like a flash, screaming and banging my head off the table repeatedly. After the thirteenth or fourteenth minute of her doing this I actually started enjoying it a little, possibly due to brain damage (unrelated to the table banging). I think she could sense this because she began asking for other patrons to hand her things to hit me with. I was a bit disheartened by how quick and eager they were to help her. I thought the cheering section that formed was a bit unnecessary as well. As I was being pelted with glasses, chairs, and laughing 5 year olds I could only think “Well, at least this has been a better Flag Day than last year.”