The Picky Eater

I don't know what it is about a man, that I expect him to be...well a man.

I mean I don't mind picking a restaurant, place to hang, you know making a decision every now and again. But truth be told, I prefer to be picked up and impressed by your ability to show me how you get down in your free time. Someone should have told me a long time ago that sometimes I will have to put my foot down.

So he picks me up. I decided to try a little international flavor and date someone from another country. In order not to offend anyone I'll keep the country anonymous. No I won't. He was African.

Not only could I not understand him half of the time but he had this thing where he would call me three times in a row if I didn't pick up. I was over it before the date but I mean hey...gotta eat right?

Now, I'm not that shallow, I don't go on dates just to eat (lies.) and I don't talk to certain guys for the benefit of getting drinks in the club (lies.) or getting in the club (lies.) or for whatever other benefit they may have (lies.) but I mean they seem to offer, I seem to accept.

It's 10 minutes into the ride and he asks what I want to eat. So I say, "Blue Ribbon." He replies that he doesn't know where that is and proceeds to tell me that I will have to tell him how to get there. So I do. The next 10 minutes are filled, jam packed, up to every second with him telling me how he played professional soccer, he moved here, he traveled there, he speaks this, he speaks that. Notice I don't remember any of it.

We pull up to the restaurant and it's major crowded. Now any other person, time and/or space I would've waited. I looked at him in his little button up and dress shoes and decided that we should find somewhere else.

He lets me know that he doesn't have any suggestions but let's "ride around" and find somewhere. I'm down because sometimes that's how you find amazing places to go with people you actually like. He chooses this little spot and I look like this is not going to go well. We get into this little spot and they have one of those eclectic menus where nothing matches. You know...chicken, seared bass, sushi, and hamburgers. So I keep it real prophylactic...chicken. He tells the waitress I would like the mixed "filed" greens. She pauses. He repeats again, "filed" greens. I look at the menu and it's "mixed field greens." I look at her with the, this is our first date face and say he'll have the field greens.

Now, sometimes restaurants play a little dinner music. You know something to set the atmosphere. Dancing may not be the best move. He does though. Bouncing, moving his head. Is this suppose to impress me? Make me laugh. It doesn't.

Food comes. We're eating. As I cut my chicken, a silver object shows up on my plate. It starts in my potatoes and ends up on the pieces of chicken I'm cutting. He's picking in my plate. Eating it and then responding, "Mmmm. That's good." I'm over it.

After he ate my whole plate. (I'm not kidding). It's time to pay the bill. Story is not done. He flinches at the check and says, "Wow, they charge a lot for a little hunh"? I wanted to ask him aren't you some soccer playing diplomat but decided against it and figured it wasn't worth it. We get in the car and I'm starving. I ask can he stop at the McDonald's. He gets offended and tells me no.

He drops me off at home and as I climb the stairs there are three missed calls. He's calling me from the car. I continue in the house.FML.

"Hello....Ho Mei chinese? Yeah I need an order for delivery." 364.