“I just want to lie down next to you…”

There are some guys that you regret allowing to pick you up at your house for dates because you’re later sure you’ll see their cars slowing in front of your house regularly at all hours of the night...

I had one of those dates a little while ago. It was like the kid had never been on a date before and didn't understand that there are some things it’s ok to say out loud and there are some you just shouldn’t. Another good date tactic he wasn’t familiar with was to at least pretend like going out with me wasn’t another chore on a to-do list. You know, I probably rank somewhere between mopping the floor, folding laundry and cleaning out the liquor cabinet (which, coincidently, is the only chore that regularly gets done at my house).

If you know me or have read any other blog posts, you’re probably pretty familiar with the fact that I am rarely ever serious about anything. I mean, have you met Lolly? This guy couldn’t have been less on the same page. He was so intense and serious and, I might say, very tightly wound! Let’s just say this was not a match made in Heaven. In fact, there were several times I wanted shake him and tell him to relax. I think I did actually reach out to shake him once but thought the waiter might call some sort of authorities as he approached the table to find me violently shaking my date.

So, of course, I tried to keep the mood light and bright and airy, telling silly stories, making ridiculous comments and trying to be really flirty. Now, I am a champion flirt, but even Olympic-level flirting was going over like lead balloons. The only time he was really ever very animated was when he got alarmingly worked up explaining to me the far superiority of Bill Mahr to Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. So, obviously that cinched it. He’s crazy. No one tops Stephen Colbert. And that is the truthiness of that.

Throughout the date, between rebuffing my playfulness and worshipping Bill Mahr, Humorless Guy repeatedly told me that he was absolutely not, under no uncertain terms, going to sleep with me. Mind you, this was entirely unwarranted. I was certainly not asking for it right there at the dinner table. I had not done one of those swift, table-clearing moves that sends plates and glasses crashing to the floor like you see in movies. I was not at the time unbuttoning my top. Or my pants. Or his pants. I was not blowing him kisses across the table or crossing my legs like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. I was certainly not giving him anywhere near bedroom eyes nor was I crawling over the table towards him. And really, the thought had never even entered my mind.

The first mention of his intended celibacy for the evening was a little uncomfortable but, I suppose, sweet on some strange level. But after the ninth or tenth time, it became unnerving. Nothing makes a girl feel prettier or sexier than the repeated insistence that even if she wanted some action (again, let’s remember that I didn’t. Not from him, at least) the idea of it was so repulsive to the other party that he felt the need to repeat his unprovoked refusal over and over and over again.

When it came time to take me home (maybe about an hour and a half after we went out, which may have been about an hour and 25 minutes too long), he said, "I really want to come inside with you." When I reminded him, only half joking and entirely relieved, that the reason he wasn't coming inside was his rule, not mine, he said, "Kristin! I know you've been teasing me about being so serious, but let's be serious for just a minute. I don't have to come in and sleep with you. I just want to lie down next to you and maybe kiss a little bit, hold hands." Huh?! Romantic proposal, don’t you think? "I know if I took you back to my house I wouldn't be able to leave. But, if I come in to your house with you, I can just get up and go whenever I want to."

I don’t think the car even actually came to a complete stop before I had leapt out. And then packed up and moved.