I have been on ONE blind date. That was enough.

About a year after my divorce one of the moms at KeenanKeenan aka: Kman
Age: 14
"Special" Qualities: Door slamming, stomping and eye rolling (can do it all in one impressive motion).
Best Qualities: The softest kindest heart, hysterical and quite charming when he tries.'s preschool approached me in her tennis skirt, pony tail bobbing and exclaimed with glee, "I have the PERFECT person to fix you up with."

I looked over my shoulder, right, then left, realized she was talking to me, eyed her skeptically as she had not spoken more than five words to me all year and said, "Really? How do you know he is perfect for me?"

"Trust me," she said giving my sweat pants, greasy hair and NoahNoah aka: Mac Daddy
Age: 12
"Special" Qualities: Holds a grudge for longer than you can remember the offense. Talks nonstop
Best Qualities: Wakes up with a smile every day and walks to the beat of his own drum. who was hoisted on my hip shoving his hand down my shirt exclaiming, "boobie," a once over, "He is perfect."

I doubted he was perfect and her thinking that the way I looked right then was a good representation of the kind of guys I dated was a problem. However. I was divorced and had been sitting home alone every night for over a year watching reruns of Married with Children and just the night before had looked down to see my left hand placed just inside my jeans and my right hand holding a remote.

"Great," I said smiling. "I would LOVE to go on a blind date."

We exchanged numbers and the very next day Bob called. We decided we would meet the coming Friday at a fabulous little Italian spot in my neighborhood. He was incredibly boring and there was something in his voice that seemed fragile. But. “Whatever,” I thought. He was breathing. And. I was going on a date. With a real person. Whose name wasn’t Al Bundy.

Friday night the sitter arrived. I showered, took the time to apply lotion to my skin (three times because it was so dry it kept soaking it up), put on makeup, MAKEUP, with mascara and everything. I patiently dried my hair with a round brush and put on the new outfit I had purchased the night before.

I kissed the kids goodbye and headed out the door for my very first blind date in all of my 27 years. As I approached the restaurant it occurred to me that I hadn’t bothered to ask what he looked like. Could it be worse than Al Bundy?

As I entered the restaurant, I quickly scanned the lobby to see if he was there. I caught the eye of a 50 something year old, insanely tall, bald man. I smiled sweetly and sat down on the bench to await my dates arrival.

“Stefanie,” I heard the older gentleman say. Weird, I thought. How does this old guy know my name? OH DEAR GOD.

“Bob?” I squealed in a voice that was much too high pitched to be my own. “It’s so great to finally meet you,” I said still screeching in a voice that had dogs all over the county running for cover.

After a few niceties, we approached the hostess who was plugging her ears and she seated us at our table. As she walked away she gave me a look that said, “I’m so sorry.”

The waitress immediately showed up at our table. I caught the hostesses eye and she gave me a wink. THANK YOU DEAR HOSTESS.

Bob politely deferred to me. I ordered a dirty martini. Up with two olives. STAT, I thought. He ordered a glass of water. Holy going downhill Batman. FAST. I resisted the urge to tell the waitress to make mine a double and settled in for a long and boring evening.

The second the waitress left to retrieve our drinks, Bob started talking. Turns out he was going through a divorce as well. Finally. Something in common. I opened my mouth to respond and he continued talking. Also. It turns out he was still in love with his wife and was devastated that she had left him. I opened my mouth to respond and he continued talking.

Then. He did something that made me start searching for cameras because SURELY I was being punked. Just as the drinks were placed on our table, he started to cry. That’s right. I. Said. Cry. Not little tears. He started sobbing. And I started dreaming of ways to kick a certain tennis players ass into the next decade.

I waited an obligatory ten more minutes, all the while consoling and telling him that I was sure it had nothing to do with him, she was just not good at her core. Then. I pretended my phone rang. Oh yes I did.

I pretended to answer, “Hello?”

And then I put on the performance of a lifetime.

“Oh NO,” I said in horror. “He threw up?” I asked and looked up at Bob’s face with exasperation. “Do you think you can handle it?” I paused for effect. “No?” I responded with a sad look on my face directed at Bob. “Are you sure Becky, we just sat down,” I said, “We haven’t even ordered food.” Again a pause. Frustrated I said, “FINE. I will head home.”

I made my apologies to Bob, exited stage left as fast as my high heels would carry me and swore that NEVER EVER again would I EVER go out on a blind date. EVER. And I never have.

Got a blind date story? Or. Are you smarter and less desperate than I?