This week, I was set up on a date with a 40 year old friend of a friend of my exboyfriend with the lying problem. He's divorced, has two children who he left behind in Peru, and works as a professional mover. Before we met, he sent me an email asking me for medical advice. Heading into the date I was pessimistic, but I felt like I should give my lying exboyfriend's friend of a friend the opportunity to win me over.
To his credit, this was not the worst date I have been on. In fact, it was not even in the bottom fifty percent. He did spend most of the time looking over my shoulder at the soccer game on tv, but at least he didn't talk about an IT job.
I might have considered a second date, had the following revelation not come to light:
"I lived in Miami for four years, but I never went to the beach. Not even once!"
Any other Seattleite who lives under a permacloud for nine months a year would have looked at him like he was crazy as well.
"Do you not like the beach?!?"
"No, I love the beach! I was just too busy working."
Whoa there, not sure I can keep up with his rock'n'roll lifestyle. I'll have to pass.
To his credit, this was not the worst date I have been on. In fact, it was not even in the bottom fifty percent. He did spend most of the time looking over my shoulder at the soccer game on tv, but at least he didn't talk about an IT job.
I might have considered a second date, had the following revelation not come to light:
"I lived in Miami for four years, but I never went to the beach. Not even once!"
Any other Seattleite who lives under a permacloud for nine months a year would have looked at him like he was crazy as well.
"Do you not like the beach?!?"
"No, I love the beach! I was just too busy working."
Whoa there, not sure I can keep up with his rock'n'roll lifestyle. I'll have to pass.
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