|Great pic from D Sharon Pruitt on Flickr. Thanks!|
So I'm sitting at dinner with Mr. Confrontational. We have had an interesting discussion.(More on that later.) My job involves professional banter. Seriously. I dispense patter as part of my working life. And I'm damn good at it. This evening, I've been filling every conversational pause with something utterly charming.
I take a bite of my salad. My mistake. This creates a pause that Mr. Confrontational has to fill. It's our first date and I'm figuring he'll go for one of the classics: job, weather, family. The Big Three. The holy trinity of inoffensive date chat.
But Mr. Confrontational is a gambler. He bypasses pre-approved chitchat and heads directly for uncharted waters.
"How old are you?" Awwww. That's so sweet. What woman doesn't want to hear that on a first date?
"I don't usually talk about how old I am. I mean, does it matter that much?" For the record, it turns out I am younger than Mr. Confrontational.
Mr. Confrontational takes a breath. Surely he will follow up with a softball. "How much do you weigh?"
Wow. I want to go all Joe Pesci on him. You know the speech.
You mean, let me understand this cause, ya know maybe it's me, I'm a little effed up maybe, but what I weigh how, I mean what I weigh like I'm fat, I disgust you? I make you retch, I'm here to effin'' disgust you? What do you mean what do I weigh, how? How am I fat?
I didn't though. Maybe I'm not Scarlett O'Hara but a woman with a 25" waist has nothing to prove.