The Double (Revised Again) | Marjorie Riches

Everyone loves double dates. Who wouldn’t? Getting together as friends or couples always makes for a good time. The atmosphere is low key and there is someone of the same sex to bounce ideas off of. The women have someone to have "potty parties" with so they are able to gossip and fix their hair and makeup and make sure that their shirt is fitting just the way they want it to. Double dates are just great.
Tonight I went on one such date with my good friend John and the two lovely ladies we met at the club last night. I live in Vegas, the city of lights, and sometimes I just want toget away from all of the glamour, and the gambling, and the downright crap that goes on. But I can't. No one can. Once you are in Vegas you are stuck in the swirl of the hazy drunken social life and besides where would I go, Utah? Ha. I'll stay where I'm at.
As I was saying, I went on a double date tonight; my date’s name was Jessica. Her shirt was hanging off of her like a window drape, barely keeping the light out. I knew she had done it for me, wanting me to see what I had the chance to get tonight--I wasn't impressed. John's date was somewhat less scantily clad, a short, blonde girl named Heather. I could tell from the way that he wouldn't stop talking that he must like her a lot. I couldn't say that she felt the same way, but hey, who can read women?
John and I had decided ahead of time to take our lovely ladies to the Cheesecake Factory. It was nice, but not nice enough to tell them that we are made of money, because we most definitely are not. John and I always decide where we are going to go before we go on dates (which we do quite often) and we base this off of where we think the date will end up. If we think we have a future with the women, we will take them to a place like where we were going tonight, nice but not too nice. If we knew that they were trashy and didn’t care if the food they were eating had been rubbed on the floor and spat in before it reached them, we didn’t waste our money and went to a crap hole. If the dates were hot, and high maintenance and we knew that we would get some action from them but no relationship, we would spend a little more and go all out; a little money is well worth the action. But tonight, John thought he might have a future with Heather.
The ride to the restaurant was pleasant enough, although no one but John was talking at all. He was going a million miles an hour. I don't even think he knew what he was talking about. I heard something about radios and a couple of minutes later he was going off about airplanes. I wondered if he realized that no one was listening to him and his date was staring at him like he was a rotting, dead fish. I laughed to myself at his stupidity. He always did this.
My date and I were in the backseat of John's Chevy Malibu. We were sitting on either side of the car, as far away from each other as physically possible. If I had been slightly interested in her it would have made this whole date thing easier, but I wasn't. I was only on this date because John really liked this girl, but he always gets nervous when he is alone with a woman. It’s not like me being there made it any better though, which was unfortunate for all of us. I felt bad for him. John is a really great guy, but he sucks at being anything other than clinically insane around women. This girl had at least agreed to go on a date with him which was farther than he usually got.
We arrived at the restaurant and I could see the great relief on everyone’s faces. Restaurants give you something to talk about: the menu, the drinks, or the ridiculous people that are always seated right across from you talking so loudly that you can hear every word. We were seated upstairs by an older couple who hadn't quite reached the 1970s yet. I was sure that they would be very interesting.
Our waiter was an extremely energetic man --too energetic. I couldn't figure out if he was gay or not. He walked like it with his hips swaying displaying his disgusting buttocks like it was some kind of trophy. He talked like it, and he even held his hand up in front of his chest when he was talking. On all counts he was gay; there was just one thing. He had a wedding ring on. Now I know it’s legal in some states for gay marriage, but I had no way of knowing for sure. I decided that I would just avoid being too friendly which he made difficult by bouncing around and catering to our every need. One thing is for sure, I am straight as a whistle. I do not fraternize with homos.
We ordered our meals after a few minutes of looking over the menu. Both girls ordered salads (no surprise there) while us men ordered real food. I'm not a big salad eater, or exerciser, or stay in shape kind of person. I am pleasantly plump and proud of it. I enjoy my food the way it is supposed to be enjoyed, unlike my date who looks as though she has been anorexic for some time now.
Maybe that's why I wasn't impressed by her incredibly showy top. I like a woman with a little meat on her bones. I like her to show that she likes to eat, but that she can still go out and have a little fun. Not too fat, not too thin, that’s the way I like them. Plus, I know that if a woman is a little bigger she is a good cook, and that is very important to me.
After we ordered our food, John continued to rant about who knows what. To his own demise the atmosphere didn't change at all from what it had been in the car. I was getting bored. When I get bored, I do things-- not normal things, but things that are risky and will get me in a little trouble. I’m a nice guy though so I always think about my friends feelings first. Right then I was thinking that John had already hung himself and that he absolutely did not have a future with this girl. So I looked my date right in the face and said it.
"So how long have you had the disease?"
She looked at me, confused. "Excuse me?"
"The disease -you know- anorexia," I said blatantly. She looked appalled and didn't give me the courtesy of an answer. "Don't try to tell me that you were actually going to eat the salad you ordered,” I continued, “Your kind never do. You order it, make the poor man you are using that night pay for it, pick at it, then run off and see how much skinnier you got from starving yourself another night." She looked furious, Heather shocked, and John like he had just discovered electricity. He knew exactly where I was going with this. You see, when I know that a date is going poorly, for both of us of course, I throw a twist in things and see how long it will take the girls to leave so that we can kick back and have a beer. I figured these girls wouldn't be hard to bust. I was right. Moments later my date, looking like a donkey had kicked her in the face, stood up, shoved her seat back and glared at me.
"I am NOT anorexic. You are just saying that because you are fat." And with that she stormed off. Heather took her cue and quickly stood up, giving us a look that couldn’t scare a field mouse, and followed. When they were safely out of earshot, John burst out laughing.
"You've never tried that one before...fatty." And he punched me in the shoulder. We had a good chuckle over the night’s events and stayed at the restaurant for an hour or so more, just drinking and laughing at the look on that girl's face. Moments like that are priceless. Now, I wholeheartedly believe that someday John and I are both going to meet wonderful women and fall in love, but until then, kicking back just us boys and having a beer is better than any double date.