Years ago, I corresponded with a local doctor I met online. That sounds promising, right?
To check him out before meeting, I asked a friend who worked at the medical university where the doc graduated to see if she could find out anything about him. Everyone in my office crowded around the fax machine as it cranked out background info.
We cracked up as the first sheet rolled out and we saw she’d written in huge letters, “Hunk-a-hunk of burnin’ love!”
The photo and resume looks fine, everyone agreed. So I talked to him on the phone several times.
Finally, he suggested meeting for a “pool date” since he had his son on the weekend and my son was with me then, too. We arranged to meet at the pool in his upscale subdivision.
My son, who was about eight at the time, did not want to go. At all. So he asked to bring a friend along.
We picked up the friend, got to the pool, and the doc’s son, who was also about eight, was there with his dad.
The sons-of-the-daters pretty much ignored each other.
Until the doctor’s son came up with the bright idea for the boys to gang up and splash me. (I’d been standing in the shallow end of the pool in my black one-piece bathing suit, with nice dry hair up until that time, talking with the doctor.)
After the boys deluged me with water, I looked like a drowned rat but smiled wanly because I didn’t want to look like a bad sport. And you can’t kill someone else’s kid (or your own).
When I climbed out of the pool to dry off, the doc followed me and sidled up close behind as I bent over to pick up my towel.
Looking my rear end and legs up and down, he said in a sultry voice, “I can tell you work out.”
I jumped into my beach cover-up faster than the speed of light.
When I thought things couldn’t get worse, my son started faking that he was drowning. (He wasn’t, but he’s very dramatic and it was extremely embarrassing.)
After jumping back into the pool to “save him,” I headed to the car with the boys — all of us wet and unhappy — for a long, silent trip home.
When I told my girlfriends what happened afterwards, each and every one of them asked, “What were you thinking? Are you crazy?”
Some advice from someone who learned the hard way: don’t meet at a pool for a first date, don’t wear a bathing suit, and, most importantly, don’t bring your child. Nothing good will happen!
Other bad date posts:
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