THE HICKEY GIRL DATE

by Steve Clem on April 16, 2009

I decided since my first blog post was covering a serious topic, I’d give you all something humorous to chew on this time. A year ago right around this time, I was going back into the dating world after ending a one-year-relationship the month before. This is a summary of one of my first dates after dipping my toe back in the dating pool (and after reading it you’ll wonder how I possibly could have jumped back in the pool at all).

I had been interacting with J for a few weeks on a dating site through email and chat, and found out that she was a native Iowan like me. She also lived in Plymouth, not too far from me, which seemed like two points in her favor. Things so far were looking good.

The day of the date arrived. We had decided to meet at a bar/restaurant that was about halfway between our places…just 5 minutes drive for each of us.

She called me up about an hour before we were supposed to meet and asked to change our location to a bar in the north metro that she liked to go to. I told her that was fine, but since I didn’t know where it was, maybe we should drive together. She said she’d drive if I just went to her apartment.

As I’m driving to her place for the date, she calls my cell phone. “Hey, there is something that I should tell you before you get here…I have a hickey.” WHAT? A hickey? Seriously? I thought to myself, and the last time I remember hearing anyone discuss a hickey was probably in 9th grade of high school. I just responded with a soft “Um, ok,” and she went on to explain that it happened Saturday night with some guy that was really into her, but she wasn’t into him, she was just too drunk that night. Red flag #1…and it was GIANT!

So I get to her place and she meets me in the parking lot. I found myself averting my eyes from her neck and staring at the sky alot. We hopped in the car and off we went. We arrived in the parking lot of the bar about 20 minutes later, and as we are pulling in, the car behind us is weaving and honking non-stop. “Oh shit,” J says. “What? Who is it?” I asked her. “My sister. She’s probably drunk, too.” GREAT! A family affair.

We proceed to the door of the bar, with her drunk sister in tow, and as we walk in the bartender looks at us and yells the announcement of our arrival. “HEY EVERYONE LOOK, HICKEY GIRL IS HERE!” I was ready for Dr. Kevorkian to interrupt this date at this point.

We sit down, and look at the menu, and her drunk sister joins us and asks if I’m buying her dinner too. Sure. Why not? I mean, we might be in-laws soon. NOT. Her sister proceeded to sing karaoke the rest of the night, usually on the stage every other song, even if she wasn’t scheduled to be up there. She would glare at us after every song and tell us that we weren’t cheering loud enough for her performances. I was looking around for an ejection button on my bar stool.

After about an hour, in walks J’s other sister, who was supposed to be watching J’s 7-year-old son. “I got bored so I dropped him off with his cousin.” J’s newly arrived sister was going through a divorce, but had a boyfriend. She liked to come to this bar to hit on a tattooed NASCAR fan who wore jorts (look it up) and a Megadeth t-shirt. Can never have enough guys like that in your life, right?

By this time, it was about 10:30, on a weeknight, and I had to get to work the next morning early. I told J that it was probably about time to head home. “Yeah, I suppose I should get my son and get him to bed since he has school tomorrow.” Ya think? Really? I mean because maybe if you just keep him up all night the learning experience will be more surreal for him.

We go to pick up her son from the cousin’s house. I make it a rule that my kids don’t meet anyone I’m dating unless it is serious – they have only met two of the women I’ve dated in the last 3 years…one was a year-long relationship, the other 6 months. But here I was with J’s son in the backseat, trying to explain when he asked who I was.

This was also a perfect time for her son to decide that he must be getting sick. So every 5 minutes on the 20 minute drive back to her apartment, he made us pull over the car so I could join him on the shoulder of the road and listen to him make fake puking noises. The 20 minute drive took 45 minutes. As we were nearing her apartment and my salvation, she suddenly swerved quickly into the next lane, lamenting “Oh crap, I forgot to pick up my prescriptions. Can we go through the Walgreen’s Drive Thru?” Sure, of course, I thought. See if they have any samples of Prozac I might be able to borrow.

Finally, we arrive at her place, and as I begin my semi-sprint to my car, she yells out “I’d invite you up for a nightcap, but I have my son.” No shit? I didn’t notice him.

Needless to say, that was the last I ever saw of Hickey Girl.

* * * *

Steve Clem originally published this piece on the blog A Prisoner in the Tundra.

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