"You are a beast! Seriously"
"I know right? First I fart in the guy's face then he comes up with a mouth full of toilet paper."
Welcome to dating in your 40's.
It's not pretty my friends.
I was seeing a man, who I truly enjoyed, for about a month. He was very generous with his mouth, which only made me like my brown-eyed, sarcastic prospect more.
After a Chinese food dinner date, we made our way home and took a trip downtown.
As I began to enjoy myself that's when it happened, out came a fart. From me. Right where his head was located.
It was one of those audible, you could hear-it-in-the-back-of-the-movie-theatre-during-a-blaring-war-scene gem. There was no denying what it was or where it had come from.
Horrified and unsure what to do, I tried to focus on what he was doing, except he had stopped.
"Are you really going to let that go?"
Busted and red-faced I replied, "Well, I was hoping! I guess we should stay away from the Chinese food."
Things seemed to cool off some after the fart incident. My friends rallied around me and assured me it had nothing to do with my flatulence. I showed I was human and in revealing my flaws it made me more appealing.
Sure. Let's go with that.
After a few bumpy weeks of trying to navigate through the, "Is this going to turn into a relationship, or are you just here for the booty call" we again found ourselves downtown.
Prior to our meeting I wanted to surprise him with a new, ahem, hairdo. He had put in a request that things be a little less 1990's Andre Aggassi, opting instead for Mr. Aggassi's current post-lion mane.
Eager to please, I put razor to action.
Unfortunately before I left for his house, I had to use the bathroom. Not thinking anything of it, or realizing that a fresh shave paired with super soft tp is a recipe for disaster, I arrived ready to show off my new "do."
A few minutes into our play date I heard, "What the fuck is this?"
I sat up.
With horror I watched as he pulled a piece of two-ply from his mouth.
"Is this toilet paper?"
There was no denying it. It wasn't marshmallow fluff.
Needless to say the rest of the night didn't turn out exactly as I had planned. Humiliated I tried to sleep it off, but felt terrible. I went from feeling sexy to this awkward, washed up 40-year-old. He did nothing to make me feel better about it, instead just shut down and watched t.v.
Eventually I got fed up and left, frustrated with how the evening turned out.
As I drove home I felt incredibly sad. Because I knew. I knew that the right guy? He probably would have made no mention of what he discovered or if he did, would have made light of it, something to joke about, a story to share in the years to come.
Instead I felt alone, that I had just wasted the last three months giving my time, my attention, my efforts and my love to someone unworthy. And it sucks because I really liked this guy. In the beginning he was funny, made me laugh and was easy on the eyes. I trusted him with intimate stories about my past, things I only share with my inner circle. He hugged me when I revealed. He held me all night, placed gentle kisses on my back. When he was sick I brought him soup and a goodie bag of healing complete with Kleenex, roast beef sandwiches, and medicine.
Yet here I was wondering what the hell I had done for him to flip a switch so fast? As I approached the stop sign in the road I too reminded myself to stop the negative thoughts and started to giggle.
Dating isn't easy at any age, especially when you have a heart the size of Texas. But I still have hope that there's a guy confident enough who can handle a little gas eking out when he squeezes the Charmin.