You know me! I don’t need an introduction. It’s story time, ladies and gentlemen.
So I was up late one night, phone in hand, creeping. Sifting through Tinder can be fairly entertaining and exciting when done properly. The candidates for that night weren’t looking too good until she came across my screen.
“Southern butterfly! Looking for a man who will cut the grass while I bake biscuits in the morning and take off my Red bottoms after date night.”
I remember the shit like it was yesterday. She was absolutely gorgeous. 5’4″, 160 pounds, 65 pounds of ass and thigh. Light almond skin like toast warmed on the third to lowest setting. A blonde twist out which were a result of the finest Bantu knots the night before.
I swiped right and boom! “A match!” There was no reason to keep playing, I had my best catch of the week, let alone the night. Conversation flowed beautifully. It seemed as if everything was lining up perfectly. We matched on all levels. Zodiac signs, sports teams, shit we even were the oldest and youngest children of our respective families. For a moment, I thought this could actually be something.
After a week or so of aggressive texting, FaceTime and phone calls it was time for the first date. I remember waking up that morning to “I can’t wait to see you today 😍😍😍.” I got to the barber shop early because I had a busy day ahead. I took the Lexus to the hand car wash as I got a lap dance and ate inside magic city. I hit my watch and necklace with the jewelry cleaner. I bought a new outfit, some new cologne and made sure that the house was spotless in the event that I got her back to my place.
I was set to pick her up at 7, and the restaurant was only 10 minutes away, but I know how women are so I gave a 45-minute buffer and set reservations for 8. At 6:45 I hit her like “You ready?”
I wasn’t worried because I planned for it. I turn on my Xbox and await her inevitable text. 7:20 rolls around and she’s like “Hey I was doing my makeup, be ready in a few! Here’s my address 😘😘”
Bet! I brushed my teeth, sprayed some more cologne on, hopped in the whip and smashed out. Shorty lived about 20 minutes from me, and I’m just smiling the whole way there. I check my phone at the stoplight literally ONE MINUTE AWAY from her apartment, and I have a text from Kim. I’m expecting it to say that she’s ready or asking me what’s taking so long, or she’s excited, but it’s none of those.
Hey Malcolm, I’m soooooo sorry, I have to reschedule. Something important popped up.
Damn, you sure? I’m literally about to turn on your street.”
Yeah, I’m positive. I don’t want to waste your time tonight. I’m sorry.
You mad at me? 😞 I suck.
Don’t even trip, we good. Maybe next weekend.
I played it cool, as every real guy should, but in reality, I was in the car mad as hell. I mean I was fuming hot, furious, Mel Gibson mad. Not because things changed, but because I dedicated my entire day to something that didn’t happen. I could’ve been out getting money instead. Nevertheless, my homies were out having a drink that night and I was entirely too fresh to go home. Someone HAD to see my outfit, so I linked up with them.
As soon as I walk in the spot some disgruntled dude brushes past me all angry. I immediately begin to press the issue, but before I could, he apologized. “My fault my nigga, Man these hoes crazy.” “Tell me about it,” I replied.
I thought nothing of it.
So I’m in this cool little tapas spot with the fellas drinking and eating all type of delectable quesadillas and what not when I realized that I was having so much fun I hadn’t checked my phone in minutes. I pull it out my pocket and there it is.
Missed Call (4)
I open the texts and it’s all love. “Hey call me.” “I want to see you!” “Can we still link??”
At this point, I’m off the liquor and the girl I want is blowing me up. Seems like tonight may be alright after all. I step away and call her.
What’s up gorgeous?
Hey, where are you? I want to see you!
I’m out and about. I thought something came up. What happened?
Doesn’t matter. What’s up?
I really wanna see you. I was dealing with my family at the house. Plans changed about 30 minutes ago and I’m free.
Oh alright. Well give me about 20 minutes, I’ll come pick you up.
Ummmm, I’m not home.
Bruh you playing. You just said you were at the house dealing with your family. I’m about done with your shenanigans for the night.
Okay, hold on wait wait. I have a confession.
I’m not at home. I didn’t have a family emergency. I’m actually at (the same damn lounge I’m in). My date walked out on me because I wouldn’t go home with him.
I almost dropped my damn phone. I took a step back to survey the room and I saw her. She was sitting in one of the booths alone Heels on, dressed to the 9’s, makeup and hair done looking flawless. There was a mountain of food and two bottles dressed in full sparklers on the table. Next to her stood a server with her arms crossed and a bouncer.
What? I’m confused.
I ordered a couple of bottles, a shrimp appetizer, some lobster bites and quesadillas. He said “Ordering like that, you must plan on coming home with me!” I laughed and told him “No, not at all. I’m just enjoying myself.” He said that he had to go to the bathroom, and that was an hour ago.
Now the server is here telling me that before he left he paid his $40 part of the tab and that I have to pay the rest, and I can’t afford it.
Alright, so what that gotta Do with Me?
Well, I was wondering if you could come up here and pay my tab, then you know, we could hang out.
I was flabbergasted. Befuddled. Void of all words. After a few seconds, I was able to form a sentence.
How much is the tab?
(I asked this strictly for humorous purposes.)
I saw her lean over to the server as said server held up the tab and pointed to it furiously.
I burst out laughing.
It’s not funny. I need your help, I should’ve just come out with you.
So let me get this straight. You stood me up to hang out with another guy, he left you stranded at the restaurant with the tab, and now you want me to come and pay for some shit that I’m not going to even enjoy?
The bottle is half full and there are quesadillas!
Catch an uber to Grady Memorial Hospital and go to the psych ward. You must be fucking crazy. Look to your left.
She looked over and saw me standing there. She locked eyes with me, I flipped her off, hung up the phone and walked off. I took a shot with my friends, got in the car and drove 45 minutes to my ex’s house.
I heard from shorty in the following days, but I ignored everything. Last time I checked she had me blocked on Twitter.
Post-relationship Dating is trash.
– International Malcolm
The Friday Night Company. 2016.