Ms. Speed Dater (Part 1)

Apparently, the French call it “soft dating.”

Absurd.  The French also translate English movie titles into… English.  (For example, The Hangover became Very Bad Trip.  Asstarded.  You also have to say it in a silly French accent, otherwise nobody will understand you.  Doubly asstarded.)

Anyway, before I get too off-topic, back to my speed-dating adventure.

I had signed up for “soft dating” to be held last night at a fairly swanky venue.  I dragged a girlfriend with me for moral support, of course.  When we arrived, we were greeted by two young men who looked like they should be hosting a fraternity keg party instead of a classy “soirée soft dating.”

Frat Boys #1 and #2 informed us that we had to wait because not enough guys had arrived yet to make our numbers even.

Then two more girls arrived.

C. and I checked out the competition, and we were underwhelmed.  We looked at each other knowingly, and maybe it was just me, but I could have sworn that we telepathically communicated the following message: “These girls don’t stand a chance against the multi-ethnic glam that we have going on here!”

We all watched as the last few guys trickled in:

Guy #1: Short, bald, old dude

Guy #2: Short, bald, not as old, but hardly a spring chicken, dude

Guy #3: Short, balding dude whose age was indeterminate because of the patchwork balding pattern on his head and face (!!)

C. shot me this look.  I knew what that look meant.  Her telepathic message was loud and clear: “Oh HELL no.”

I vetoed.  I was determined to see this through.

So I handed Frat Boy #2 my card to pay for the both of us.

The card was refused.

Mortifying.

I had plenty of money in my account, but my card just chose that particular moment to have an attitude problem.

Twice.

Since I had no cash, and since there were no cash machines nearby, C. and I had to slink away with our tails between our legs.

On our way out, we peeked through the window to see what the scene looked like.  It was a sea of shiny heads.  I don’t have anything against bald guys who can pull off the look (Zidane! –>), but this was ridiculous.

Perhaps my card crap-out was actually the universe’s way of saving us from the Bald Dude Convention.

But do not fear, dear readers.  I will try speed dating again next week, but with a different company.  Hopefully, the selection will have some hair.

Stay tuned.