Andrew Fails with Six Women.

I’ve always been the believer that the purpose in a man’s life is to find the right woman. Marry her, make a family, and then you can enjoy living. Unfortunately, this is a lot harder than it sounds. With women, chances are you'll fail often. But the rejection is worth it, when you finally find a good one. So despite the odds, I've gone on dates whenever I can.

They all started off pretty good, but then something happens and I can’t help but sabotage myself. In the past, I would have feigned interest to improve chances of sex. But lately, I haven’t. I’m thinking more with my brain than with my wiener, and the results aren't good.

To keep this from getting too long, I’ll just fast forward to the good parts. And by ‘good parts’ I mean the thing my mouth said that ended any chance of copulation.

So now I present to you, the Six Most Recent Dates:

1.  1. The Health Nut

She’s sitting across from me, we’re outside on the restaurant's patio. The sun glistens off her dark hair, the occasional breeze placing her in a slow motion fantasy.

She’s looking down at the menu that I’m all too excited to try. I pick out my dish, then look at her in anticipation. She doesn’t seem happy.

The waiter comes by, proper, poised.

She extends a finger cautiously, like the menu could bite her.

“Is there gluten in this?”

“I can’t have any carbs. Are there carbs in the grilled salmon dish?”

“Is the salmon farm raised?”

“What kind of awful things are they injecting the fish with? Ugh. I can’t eat this garbage.”

She flips her hair. Clearly me, the waiter and this place aren’t worthy of her.

Waiter does his best to appear calm and understanding. Leaving to ask the cooks periodically about how much MSG is in the whatever-possible-dish she spat out of her pretty mouth.

She’s gorgeous, be nice Andrew.

No. Wait. This is just the first date. It will always be like this. She’ll always pick apart everything in every place I try and take her to. Combined with how I’m Italian, and love all food, this won’t work. I’ll give her one more chance. One more question and it’s over.

The waiter returns for the 3^rd time, hopeful this will be his last.

“Is your soup made with chicken stock? Is the tomato sauce canned?”

That’s it.

“Yeah and are your ice cubes fat free? Shut. Up. And order something.”

She never talked again.

--

2. The Cute Moron.

She’s sitting beside me at a bar. The lighting is red, fervent, passionate over her skin. It illuminates her softly, accentuating every tempting bit of her.

We’ve befriended a guy next to us at the bar. He can’t stand it anymore, and asks

“So how did you two meet?”

I put a hand on her thigh under the counter to stop her, and speak instead.

“Well I was in this giant castle. It was filled with turtles and ghosts, but I got passed them all. At the end was this giant spiky turtle that I jumped on, slaying him. She was waiting afterward.”

The guy went to smile, appreciating the joke, but she cut in- “Huh that’s not how it happened. We met at a Starbucks.”

“Wow I was saying you were my princess. Are you kidding me?”

She scoffs “What? I don’t like, get you at all.”

“You know what. We’re through,” my mouth said.

Her glossy lips curled, “YOU are dumping ME?”

“Yes and if anyone asks, it’s because you didn’t get an obviously cute Mario reference.”

“Oh my God Andrew. You’re so freaking weird.”

“Yeah I am weird. But you’re dumb.”

--

3. The Fisherman. (Obviously hot girl in perfect shape that keeps fishing for compliments.)

This one was stunning. Even I got nervous the moment I saw her. She’s sitting across from me at Oregano’s.

“Want to split a pizza?” I say to her.

“Uh, I look so bloated today, sorry I’m like soooo fat.”

She takes her manicured fingers and pinches her flat stomach.

“Are you just fishing, or do you seriously have a body image problem?”

“Fishing what? No I’m like so breaking out right now too. See?”

She points to her perfect, blemish-free face.

“Yeah I see it. You look like shit. Maybe you should’ve worn more makeup.”

--

4. The Online Girl.

This girl started off lovely, but has since covered herself in a myriad of tattoos, each with conflicting ideals. She’s wearing a black Jimmy Eat World t-shirt, tightly. It reveals her very sporty, fun looking shape.

“So gauges eh?”

“Yeah, aren’t they hot?” She slides two fingers through her right earlobe with ease.

“What’s the goal in mind, when making your ears into rubber bands? Is it so you can hold your cell phone in them or something? That would be pretty convenient.”

“Uh. Ok grandpa. No it’s so I look hot, you know express myself.”

“Why go so big though?”

“It’s addictive. You just want to keep going.”

“Addictive as in ‘well my dad already hates me, might as well go bigger!’”

“Ugh God. You DO sound like my parents. You even look like my dad. Oh gross! You’re gross.”

--

5. The Feminist

I’m sitting alone at the table, eager to eat sushi. In strolls a magazine-cover blonde. The only blonde in this list. She’s got a designer women’s suit on, with a low cut shirt underneath, allowing just a peek at her legendary boobs. She’s chatting on her smart phone, as if I’m an appointment she’d rather avoid.

“Hi Andrew. Yeah I was busy.”

“It’s okay, with what?”

“Oh I had another model shoot. With Calvin Klein,” she says it in a way to show me she’s too good for me.

“That’s cool. I hope you like sushi.”

She takes up the menu, then sets it down. “I’m not really hungry.”

“That’s okay, I know how it is being a model. Well I don’t, but it sounded cool, me saying that.”

She doesn’t smile, just starts texting.

“Tell your boyfriend I said hi,” I gesture towards the phone.

“It’s not my boyfriend. I don’t have one for good reason.”

“And what reason is that?” I ask, leaning forward like a reporter.

“I don’t need one. Men are just, not to sound rude, but men are just things to be used.”

“I see. Yeah we’re just tools, every one of us. So I figure we split some spider rolls, maybe some sashimi and a round of sake?”

“Fine,” she says, finishing another text.

I eat most of the sushi. I try to keep the conversation going, but only get short responses throughout the date.

“So are you trying to get with me or something?” she eventually spits out.

“This is a date, right. How am I doing so far?” I ask, eating the last bit of salmon.

“You’re too short,” she says to her iPhone.

That’s it.

My body stands up, and my voice drops, “Okay. Sorry. I’d pay for the dinner, but I’m tired from being used. I’m brainless and poor, you know. Nothing more than a seed donor.” 

Our eyes meet for the first time, then.

I burn through her skull with my gaze.

The phone trembles in her hand. She uncrosses and recrosses her legs, uncomfortable in her chair. For that moment she’s much smaller than me, and she knows it. Her mouth stutters half a response as I napkin my hands and walk out.

6. The Materialist

We made it through dinner. She laughed at my jokes, smelled good. I liked her so far. Now I’m taking her home in my 1999 white Dodge Dakota. It’s an average pickup truck. Nothing I’m proud of, but I keep it clean.

From the passenger seat, she says

“Hey Andrew. You’re cute and all, but that shirt. What is that from, Express or something?”

“Yeah, I got it from Christmas last year.”

“I thought so. Express is so lame. We need to fix you,” she pats my hand, like she’s comforting a retarded kid.

“And this… this truck or whatever this is. My ex-boyfriends had BMWs. They’re nice, you should… you should get a BMW!”

“Oh. Yeah okay. Let’s stop by a dealership on the way home,” I say, as plainly as possible.

“I don’t think any are open this late. WAIT there’s one down on Camelback I think. We could pick out a nice white convertible!” she’s being serious. This isn’t a joke.

“Sounds good babe. You know I never thought of that before, just BUY a new BMW. Why not?”

“I know right? They’re so sexy. You’d be sexy in one,” she’s glowing now, like she just struck gold.

So I take us down from North Scottsdale to Camelback road, she’s all excited telling me where to turn to get to the dealership.

We pull into the parking lot. Perfect new BMWs gleam a rainbow of dreams I’ll never achieve.

“Why don’t you get out and start looking, while I find a place to park!”

“Okay!” she exclaims, giddy.

I watched her close the passenger door and skip off towards a sparkling M3.

Then I drove away.