John? If that is your real name, this one’s for you.

I met a guy named John years ago on a dating site.  John was a real estate broker with a fancy BMW who was so rich he made me pay for my own Americano on our first date.  He spent the entire date talking about himself and how much money he had, but when it came to paying he couldn’t possibly part with the $1.75 that would cover my Americano.

I didn’t hear from John for several weeks after the Americano incident.  One afternoon I had off from work I got a text message from him asking if I wanted to get some Bloody Mary’s.  I don’t know if it was desperation or the fact that I really wanted to tell him how much of a cheap bastard I thought he was.  Whatever it was, I agreed to meet him.

He picked me up at the same coffee place where we had originally met,  and claimed he had the most amazing Bloody Mary’s back at his place.   His house was so massive that for a minute I thought we had pulled in to an apartment complex.  It was immaculate with tasteful decorations and a beautiful island kitchen with hanging pots and pans that were probably worth more than my yearly salary.

John said he had just purchased this house and that he lived alone.  My instincts told me that there was something terribly wrong with this situation, but  I just couldn’t  put my finger on it.  Years earlier a friend of mine told me that if I ever had doubts about a man that I would find all of my answers by searching his medicine cabinet.  You know, small things like whether or not he has STDs, kids, a wife, etc, etc.  I excused myself to the bathroom and quickly started rifling through the cabinet.  The cabinet wasn’t attached to the wall and I fell backward, the entire thing came crashing down on me along with all of its contents.  I crawled around on my hands and knees frantically picking things up as he knocked on the door checking on me.

I found vag cream, hormone medicine, and lots and lots of crazy pills.  His name wasn’t on any of them the only names on the pill bottles were Jim and Maryann Fallon.  After my discovery, I needed a drink.  I walked back in to the kitchen where I asked where the Bloody Mary mix was.   What a surprise!  There was no Bloody Mary but he did have a dick and guess what?  He wanted me to suck it!  I told him that only sluts and desperate chicks suck dick on the second date and I was neither so he could go fuck himself.  I demanded that he take me back to my car which he did.  Would you believe after that I never saw or heard from him again?

Today I ran across this article and thought of John.  I couldn’t help, but to picture what could have been: Me wearing some  old lady’s bathrobe,  sipping Bloody Mary’s while wearing her expensive face cream only to have her walk in mortified that a short Hispanic girl and the real estate agent she had hired were partying like rockstars in her house!