Do Jew Wanna Date? | Poor Fluffy

You don't want to know what happens to this little guy

You don’t want to know what happens to this little guy

I briefly mentioned Bad Date #3, and since I’m a girl who likes to follow through with things, let’s delve into that one. I’m hoping I can educate any man reading this how NOT to act on a date, or at least help my friends feel better about their semi-crappy but not too painful recent dates.

Bad Date #3 and I were set up by our mothers, which in retrospect should have told me to run screaming for the hills like a witch living in Salem, but for some reason his being a dermatologist clouded my judgment enough to agree to one date. Find me a Jewish girl who doesn’t love the idea of dating a doctor, especially one who can remove a pesky milia from her otherwise perfect skin. But I digress. He suggested Champps (what did we learn from Colonoscopy guy, kids?), and proceeded to spend the entire meal watching some sporting event over my shoulder. He asked me two questions: where did I go to college, and would I like ketchup for my fries?

I had ordered soup.

Thanks for trying mom, but I’m pretty sure I can find lame dates all by myself.

And now for Bad Date #4 (yes, these have been quantitatively ranked through a scientific process, based on how much I felt the need to stick a fork in my eye in order to get out of the date). What is the next best thing to dating a doctor? Yep, a lawyer. Mr. Attorney asked me to coffee, spent the whole date (25 minutes total) looking extremely annoyed and bored, unless we were discussing his love of Brazilian dance fighting. He also ran for the car (I forgot to mention Dermatologist ran off with barely a wave, I’m sensing a pattern here), and when we ran into each other a year later he must have been suffering amnesia because he asked me out again. And I must have been suffering a concussion because I agreed!

We went out twice (actually not too horrible this time), he never called (fine by me!) and I found out later he thought I killed his cat. Yes, I hate cats, but no I didn’t purposely let Fluffy out the back door. I swear. I didn’t!!