A Hideous Ensemble

On the first date, he appeared to be a great guy with whom I shared a lot of chemistry. On the second date, we met in front of the movie theater. I was glad it was a moonless, dark night, although the moonless sky only partially hid his flashy, neon, tiger-print, knit pants. Under his ripped trench coat was a ragged tee-shirt with some logo printed on it. The floppy hat topped it all off. After the movie, he managed to shake a bottle of hot sauce all over his outfit, which accessorized the hideous ensemble with red spots. These he lightly brushed off and largely forgot. For the next date, I had hoped for a better wardrobe choice, but I was sorely let down. His sweatshirt and sweatpants outfit did not at all compliment my sexy tight jeans and fitted blouse. Trying to focus on our chemistry and ignore his tasteless wardrobe, I invited him over to hang out one Saturday afternoon. As he helped me prepare the meal, he revealed he had no iota about how to cut an onion. I thought he was being cute. He was serious. After the dinner, which he scooped upon his fork like a four-year-old eats ice cream from the carton, he retired to the couch. He left me sitting at the table. I was soon glad that there was greater than an arm's length between us. He shoved his right hand down his pants. I looked away grimacing. I stared at the wall as I talked to him in hopes that he would stop fondling himself before I had to look back. Again, I was sorely let down. When I looked back at him, he was happily tugging as before. So, what possessed me to make the last date? After a two-week hiatus and some lame excuses on my part for not returning his calls, we eventually spoke again on the phone. The conversation was decent enough. He was an attractive guy, too, so I thought I'd give him another shot. I thought that maybe the art museum might give him an opportunity to shine, being something of an intellectual. For a while, the environment worked for him. He arrived in jeans and a Ralph Lauren sweater. His hair was cut and his face shaved. I was beginning to think my patience had paid off. He might indeed be a diamond in the rough. Alas, he was coal through and through. As we stood in front of a glass case filled with Greek pottery, the scene unfolded. "Look!" he cried delighted, "You can see this guy's wee-wee!"

— Carolyn, 28

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