Eight Bad Dates: Near Missus

Editor’s Note:  In this eight-part series, Eva Trieger shares with us some of the perils of dating.  

-First in a series-

By Eva Trieger

SOLANA BEACH, California — After the demise of my 18-year relationship to my husband, I began to grow up. I found myself on the opposite side of the country, nearly 3,000 miles from my family, friends, relations and job. I allowed myself some time for mourning and self-loathing, but then realized if I was relying on Eva to pull me out of this abyss, she was doing a lousy job. And being that I AM Eva, I needed for her to get her act together and move on.

Reclaiming my identity meant self-exploration, self-acceptance, and lots of new freedom. No longer would someone else dictate my choice of clothing, music, or mealtimes. I discovered the untold joy of howling in my car along with the radio blasting and the windows open. Other drivers may not have appreciated my new found habit, but that wasn’t my problem. I also learned to deal with previously believed impossible tasks. I learned to replace fuses, maintain my car, and trade stocks. I even went snow shoeing in the Dolomite Mountains by myself. Yes, life was pretty full, and yet I am a sociable person, and love to share my experiences with special someones.

Part of my healing and maturation involved putting myself in the path of meeting some new potential mates. This process sounds easy, right? Well,  years later, I’ve got lots of grist for the mill, and bizarre stories to share. No, I haven’t met the ideal man yet, and I’m still single, with no shred of Prince Charming’s fleecy robe in sight. However, had I not traveled this crooked path, I’d have missed out on so many humorous dates, and revelations.

Perhaps the biggest myth that was debunked for me is that I always assumed men and women were pretty much just humans. Whoa! Was I mistaken! We couldn’t be more different. Take, for example, the concept of monogamy. For most women this is one of the hallmarks of an intimate, loving relationship. When we females feel we are the one and only, we are secure, contented, and eager to give our mates whatever their confused hearts desire. For men, not so much. Other significant departures exist as well, but I won’t belabor them here. Read on.

This little collection has been compiled to entertain. The names have been changed to protect the arrogant, and sometimes nebbish gentlemen whom I have met. All events are real, and not embellished. Having explored the world of computer dating, as well as, enrolling in a national dating service, I can honestly say, “What are you, nuts?”

Bad Date No. 1: Suave….to a point

Through mutual friends, I was introduced to Ron. He, like me, was a Special Ed teacher, here in San Diego. He was a bright and sensitive man, who enjoyed many of the same things I do. He is a big hiker, loves to cook, and enjoys the outdoors. Sounds ideal, right?

Ron phoned me and invited me to join him for a hike at Torrey Pines Nature Preserve in Del Mar. It was a lovely fall day, and the sky was cloudless and bright blue. We arrived at the top, and Ron, brought out a supremely planned picnic. Brie, grapes, wine. Ahhh. After the repast we hiked down the craggy cliffs to the ocean, walked the beach and returned. All good, right?

Following this awe inspired afternoon, Ron had planned to make dinner for me at his quaint (read: postage stamp sized) apartment in La Jolla. The view of the ocean was just breathtaking, and the aroma of garlic, pesto and fresh pasta was enchanting. Lest I get too caught up in the moment, I must draw your attention to the olive oil. Ron, as previously mentioned, loved to cook, and fancied himself quite the culinary master. However, he was wholeheartedly committed to the benefits of olive oil, and was a tad zealous. After each precious baby zucchini, squash blossom and onion sliver was added to the pan, it was followed by tablespoons of oil. As I watched, I grew bilious, and was nearly driven to grabbing the unctuous liquid from him.

To increase my feelings of unease, when not generously dispensing the oil, he gushed with zeal about his unique religious convictions, which were widely discrepant from my own. With his fervor, he’d pour out the oil as he spoke about the Messiah’s presence, as if the Savior were surfing the waves of extra virgin first pressed. I kept quiet, but really was nauseated as he plated our dinner.

I think I was able to rescue some of the once-vibrant vegetables that were now drowning on my plate. They clung to the pasta for dear life, but alas, it was too late. I suppose I could have spoken up, but risk damaging the male ego? Not on your life.

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Trieger is a freelance writer based in Solana Beach, California.  Tomorrow: The Hotel and Spa Magnate