A Good Time vs. A Good Story

I'm not sure why, but for some reason, everyone I know seems to think it is their duty to set me up on blind dates. Perhaps they don't think I'm capable of finding my own dates, maybe they truly believe the set up and I will really hit it off, or it might be that it's what I like to refer to as a 'favor date.' Whatever the reason, the mutual friend always seems to talk me into going, despite the fact that 90% of blind dates I've been on have been disastrous. I've decided however, that one of two things will happen on these blind dates: I'll either have a good time or I'll have a great story to tell. I've adopted a new theory when it comes to blind dates, a game of sorts, to see how good of a story I can get out of it. Fortunately, my most recent blind date was unable to top this one that occurred in early May of this year, and it remains the best story that I've come out of a blind date with:

I should have known it would have been a disaster when the mutual friend asked me to go on a date with this guy simply to show him that "there are nice, cute girls out there." This is what I like to call a favor date: the mutual friend knows that nothing will come of it and the date is occurring purely because the other end needs a little practice interacting with the opposite gender. Because I have a hard time saying no to people, I agreed to go. Mistake #1.

So, Irwin (names have been changed) came and picked me up one spring night. We drove 30 minutes to a restaurant, at which we had to wait one hour to be seated. Five minutes into the drive it was confirmed that Irwin and I were not soul mates, which made the hour long wait seem dreadfully long, especially because it was with someone I knew I would never see again after that night. When finally the hostess called our name and ushered us to our table, I was relieved that I now had a menu to act interested in rather than awkwardly try to make conversation with Irwin. Our food finally came, and I jumped right into my chicken enchilada. I had eaten less than half of my meal and was still going strong when Irwin looked at me and said in an appalled tone, "Wow, you sure know how to eat." Really? It's a good thing I'm not insecure about my weight or that bold statement could have caused some serious damage. Sorry Irwin, if you're looking for one of those anorexic-type, you've got the wrong girl...I've got an appetite that requires more than half an enchilada to provide satisfaction. Needless to say, it caught me a little off guard. I wasn't quite sure how to respond: "Yes, I've been doing it for 19 years now, I suppose you could call me an expert" or something more along the lines of "Thank you, I take great pride in my ability to chew and digest food"? By this point in the date I was far from wanting to impress poor Irwin and so instead of a dignified response I settled on saying, "Yes, I sure do" while shoving a forkful of chicken enchilada the size of a small child into my mouth. And I continued on to devour the entire enchilada, putting Irwin and his wimpy fajitas to shame. By the time we got to the sporting event that we had tickets for, I had no desire whatsoever to carry on a conversation with him, and instead acted as if I was an avid fan of the sport and emotionally involved in the game we were attending. Needless to say, neither Irwin or I had an enjoyable time and a second date was out of the question.

Every time I go on a blind date I secretly hope that something will happen to top my experience with Irwin, when I was told I eat a lot. Everyone knows that two stories are better than one. However, I suppose having a good time is better than having a good story to tell.