We all have tendencies and biases which is how I became a serial FOB dater. So now I need to shake things up. And my new friend Ainsley Ayers (Post 111) must agree because yesterday she said, “What’s your type?” I replied, “Single, Hindu men.” She nodded reflectively and said, “Date the opposite.” Which would be what? Married Christian men? Clearly dating married men is a bad idea, so when Dr. Comb-Over writes, I accept rather than reject him.
I generally don’t date desi doctors for two reasons. One, the majority of desi doctors (and their mothers) want matching doctor brides. And two, while doctors are smart, I sometimes find male doctors difficult to talk to. I think this is because they know 90% of one thing whereas I know 10% of a bazillion things. But since I live in a little bubble I am pushing myself outside of my comfort zone, which is why I am waiting at Chola on the UES for my date.
He arrives late and wearing a double-breasted suit, tailored in India, with misshapen collars (think Duran Duran). And it’s in an olive green color that does not appear organically in nature. He spots me and waves. More upsetting than the suit is his comb-over (which was not prevalent in his photos because they, like his suit are from 1984). Yes, this is shallow, but I don’t find him physically attractive. I wish I could. I wish I did. But posting photos of who he LOOKED like is totally unfair. I actually feel deceived, so I don’t feel bad that I intend to eat and run.
We sit down and the first thing he orders is deep-fried appetizers --- samosas and pakoras. At 8:30 pm this is the WORST thing for us to eat. He orders a beer and I a Diet Coke. He finds the no alcohol puzzling and presses me to order a wine. I explain that I am not drinking because I am training, which is not a lie. I am re-training my stars from being negatively affected by alcohol. Dr. Comb-Over reminds me he is a doctor, and says I can have one drink. I politely refuse but it bothers me that he wants me to drink. Does he think drunk I’ll forget the comb-over? Bad suit? Lack of manners?
He sets his I-Phone on the table, I presume so I will be impressed by $600 phone. Even though half of Manhattan is running around with that EXACT phone. He smiles and insists I have a drink, that I cannot let him drink alone and what kind of wine can he order me. OMG. I again decline and finally he relents. I punish him by not speaking through dinner. Which is actually punishment for me, being silent for the majority of dinner damn near kills me.
Just as I plan my escape back to the West Side he says, “Shall I drive you home?” “No, no, don’t worry. I live in the OPPOSITE direction.” Because, again, I am not letting a man I just met on the Internet drive me home. Especially after he was so adamant that I drink.
The next morning I wake up thinking my Dr. Comb-Over date was a bad dream. But that bubble bursts when I find this text: Good meeting you. I hope you had a good time. Argh! I didn’t! So I fully intend to ignore him! And if calls, I am will learn how to reject numbers on my mobile phone.