horrible gay dates

Him: Wheeeee… Helloooooo. I just chugged two glasses of wine.

Me: Why would you….

Him: It’s okay. I only txted three people my butt pics!! You can have them too! I’ll txt them to you.

(pause)

Me: Yes, please. Here’s my number.

Him: Hm. Okay. I’d jump your bones, so yeah, I’ll send you my butt pic.

Me: Why not? You’re super cute and I’d love to see, even though I’m much too old for you.

(pause. he txts me photos of his ass.)

Me: Wow. You have a beautiful body.

Him: Um. I’m not perfect. I mean, I’m not proportional. The right side of my face is larger than the left, for instance…

And I have an overbite. So…

Me: Unpardonable. Even so, you’re a real looker.

Him: Eh, my ass is no good either. Not square enough. They should be square or round but mine’s triangular. That’s not-

Me: And don’t say that about your face. Your face is the best part. Adorable. You’re a pumpkin.

Him: What’s pumpkin? Is that good?

Me: Pumpkin is great. It’s the best. You can’t be better than a pumpkin.

Him: Okay I guess. What’s a pumpkin?

Me: Just someone really cute.

Him: I read your blog and I think you’re weird, and cute, and I like you a little.

Me: Shit. Thank you.

Him: What constitutes a ‘pumpkin,’ though?

Me: It’s just someone that is cute, and maybe awkward in public, that looks like they would smell good. Like gingersnaps, maybe. Like someone who smells like gingersnaps all the time. See? You’re right, I am weird. I just told you you look like you smell like gingersnaps.

Him: I happen to smell myself all the time. When I’m super dirty I smell like chocolate…

Me: You whatlikewhat?

Him: Chocolate. I like pulling my shirt up to my nose and holding it there.

Me: I’ve done that. I had smelly hands this morning.

Him: What happened?

Me: I was at my local coffee house with someone I’ve been… seeing, and I realized my hands smelled.

Him: Like what?

Me: Like yesterday.

Him: Oh.

Me: Or last night.

Him: Got it. Sometimes the smell lingers on me afterward. No matter how much I wash… hahahahahahah……

Me: All right. Moving on…

Him: Hahaha…

(one of my readers was inspired to make some cookies)

Me: So are you really flirting with me? I think you’re very cute.

Him: Yeah, but I’m a virgin. I’ve never been poked before.

Me: Oh my.

Him: Okay here’s why: I’ve made out with a bunch of people but none of them got to stick it in, because I wasn’t dating them. It wouldn’t have meant much. I feel like if you actually get to fuck me then you get all of me, and since there was no romance involved I didn’t want to give it that much.

Me: I see what you’re saying. There have been times in my life where I assigned more and less significance to what sex means. I respect that. Sounds like I should stop hitting on you though, since you might be in a more ‘boyfriend-y’ head space than I’m looking for.

Him: Well it’s too bad that none of you guys who hit on me want to date. I’d be a terrific bottom. I am a martial artist and I can do perfect splits. And my hips are very flexible.

Me: Look, you’re making it really difficult not to hit on you. I’ll make you a deal, I’ll knock off the flirting if you don’t mention the splits again, and stop being SUCH A PUMPKIN.

Him: I don’t know… Maybe I should just do it with you, to get it over with? And then if my heart gets wound up in it and I become a crazy stalker, deal with it then?

Me: No! That sounds disastrous! Let’s be friends for a long time and respect one another. We’ll help each other through the bad times and celebrate each other when we succeed. Deal? Also, I can chew on your butt cheeks for half an hour, no biggie…

Him: Hahaha!

Me: That was not my fault. You were still being a pumpkin!

(another reader sent a failed attempt at a gingerbread house)