I met Brett mere days after I came home from my mission. His mother dragged him to my sister’s bridal shower for the sole purpose of meeting me, because my new mission (according to her) was to cure her son of his obsession with an undesirable mate and secure his eternal companionship for my own.
We began an electronic friendship–IMs and emails in AOL’s heyday–and finally he asked me out on a date. We would see Armageddon (the movie, not the real event) and grab a bite, and see where the night took us.
He lived an hour away, and I don’t remember why I agreed to drive to him, but I did. I arrived at his house, his mother beaming, and we hopped in his Jeep and headed out.
At the first stop sign, my seat slid forward. He then informed me that the seat was broken and didn’t hold its place. So I braced myself, using my weight to try and hold the seat in place. Every stop sign and red light sent me toward the windshield; every acceleration sent me toward the backseat.
He needed to get money for our date, so we went to the ATM…where his account was overdrawn. I had money and offered to pay, but he said no, so we returned to his house…and he asked his mom for date money.
Now, honestly, I felt badly for him, and I even feel a teensy bit badly for posting this on my blog, but since he eventually broke my heart and took me with him to pick up the engagement ring he gave to the woman who is now his wife (I did NOT see that one coming), the bad feeling doesn’t last for long.
With money in hand, we proceeded to the theatre. My friends at work had warned me that I would probably cry at the end of the movie, so I’d been steeling myself all day against any display of emotion. I hadn’t cried on a first-date movie in seven years, and I didn’t want to do it again.
So we sat through the slow-motion, animal-cracker, save-the-world epic that is Armageddon, and I was strong. Not a glimmer of a tear. The credits rolled, and I looked at Brett…who was wiping his eyes with his sleeve.
He was a mess.
And of course, at that time, I swooned a little, and it really did only endear him to me more, but the sum of making me drive an hour + a broken seat + asking his mom for money + blubbering at a movie as lame as Armageddon = my 2nd worst date of all time.
Aren’t you so excited to read THE WORST ONE?
All names in this series have been changed to protect the guilty.