She will always be my first. I don’t remember her name. Patty seems to come to mind for some reason, but maybe it’s because she was Irish with red hair. Her name is completely unimportant to this story, because for the last 6 years all anyone has ever called her is “The Period One”.
Let me clarify the phrase, “She will always be my first.” She wasn’t my “first” as in the first person I slept with; she was my first date after O.C.B. (Original Crazy B****, AKA my ex). Thanks for letting me clear that up.
We met online and as I dialed her number for the first time I was crazy nervous. My hands were shaking a bit and my voice probably was too. I can’t remember whether or not I had a couple of drinks to steady myself, but if I didn’t, I probably should have. Part of me was hoping to get her voice mail so that I could leave a message and let her get back to me on her own time. I didn’t want her to be in the middle of something and have her be annoyed that I was interrupting. On a scale of 1-10 I think my self-esteem was hovering somewhere between two and three.
She did answer the phone and somehow I was able to hold it together and I found a way to string along a fairly intelligent conversation. It must have been intelligent, because before I hung up the phone I had a date. Not only did I have a date, but I had a date with a pretty girl. A pretty, thin, redheaded, seemingly normal girl. I was excited.
There are some details that I don’t remember at all and others that I remember vividly. Some I remember too vividly. I remember that she said she had recently moved from Philly and that she was a huge Eagles fan. I also remember that she lived in Hollywood. At the time I lived in Long Beach, CA and we were (depending on traffic) anywhere between 30 and 90 minutes apart. I also remember that the date was on a Monday night.
As we chatted on the phone she mentioned that she really missed watching the Eagles and that when she was in Philly she loved going to a sports bar to watch the games. As luck would have it the Eagles were playing on Monday Night Football just a few days later, so we decided to meet at a sports bar near Hollywood so that we could watch the game and talk.
My stomach was in knots as I got ready for that first date. I don’t recall throwing up or anything, but I remember sweating and being scared. Really scared. Why was I scared? I had no game and even less self-esteem. Not the best combo.
I made my way from freeway to freeway and found a parking spot close to the sports bar and, after parking my car, I got out, wiped my sweaty palms on my pants and made my way inside. I arrived first and I grabbed a table where both of us could get a good view of the game, just in case the date headed south.
She arrived a few minutes later and she looked just like her pictures. I wasn’t surprised at this fact, but you have to remember that she was the first person that I had met online and I wasn’t yet hip to the reality that a lot of people don’t look like the pics they post. Anyway…
She arrived and looked just like her pictures. I remember she was wearing a tight black shirt—kind of low cut, but not too low. She was also wearing a plaid schoolgirl-type skirt and black tights. She looked good. Really good.
We started chatting, grabbed a couple of drinks and perused the menu a bit. We ordered a couple of appetizers and some sandwiches and started talking some more. The nachos arrived and we began eating. What happened next will forever remain burned in my mind and I can picture the whole event as if it was 15 minutes ago.
I had just put a bite into my mouth when she looked up at me and announced, “I really like sex, but I can’t tonight because I’m on my period. I hope that’s OK with you.” Seriously. This chick announced to me just 15 minutes into our first meeting, that she couldn’t have sex because she was menstruating. Wow!
I tried not to choke on the chip in my mouth and I somehow found the ability to say, “Sure. No problem.” I quickly replayed the moment over in my head to make sure that I heard her correctly. “She didn’t really just say that,” I reasoned. Then I tried to come up with another phrase that sounded like “I really like sex, but I can’t tonight because I’m on my period. I hope that’s OK with you.” But I couldn’t.
To say I was a bit freaked out would be a huge understatement. I had just come out of a 13-year relationship and I had full custody of my 5-year-old. I was naive and figured that I would meet someone, fall in love and live happily ever after. Now here I was sitting across the table from a chick that wanted to nail me on the first date, but couldn’t because she had Aunt Flo in town.
Should I be upset that here I was putting out good money for dinner and drinks and she wasn’t putting out at all or should I be creeped out that this woman I hardly knew thought that I should know right up front about her monthly cycle?
The reality is that someone like her was likely to have some sort of a Super STD—one that could penetrate even the strongest of condoms. This one was a flat-out slut. Take that to be a good thing or a bad thing. Your call.
The bottom line is that I somehow finished dinner and we went our separate ways at halftime. I never did call her back for a second date, but I’m sure that if I would have, I could have had some much needed sex. When I got home I called a couple of friends to tell them the story and one was nearly as freaked as I was. The other one? He was pissed, not freaked. To this day I still remember his reaction, “Did you ask her if her mouth worked?”
Welcome back to the dating world…