For those of you who voted on my next blog topic, THIS was your pick. And I cannot thank you enough, because I want this story told so I can work on removing everything about it from my mental imagery. I actually wanted this to be my second blog, but “Trek” (from my very first blog – The Wheat Thins Incident) advised me over a beer one night that perhaps I was still a little too fired up about this one and might oughtta let it mellow a bit.
Well, Trek – the people have spoken. And I am glad they did. Trek (and a few others) got to hear this story through my vivid personal account, which I am told cannot be done justice in writing, but I’m going to try.
I need to give a little back story for those reading who don’t know me. I’m what some might call… a little spit-fire; personality and sass bursting at my seams. When it comes to sarcasm and insults, it comes as natural to me as breathing. I also grew up with three older brothers and a dad with a crude sense of humor. I developed boobs when I was about five, so male crudeness and comments are no strangers to me. I always (try to) act like a lady, but about 90% of the time, I think more like a man. I’m not even close to being a prude, and am nearly impossible to offend. In fact, if you can offend me, I will likely offer my congratulations (first) for the feat you’ve just accomplished, followed immediately by my condolences for the shit-storm about to blow your way.
Until recently, I had a profile on a dating website. This is where some (ok, fine…nearly all) of my dating stories (good and bad) come from. I joined it about 6 months after my divorce was final, mostly because of peer pressure from some friends. I hadn’t been in the dating world for about 12 years, and had no clue how to meet people, so this “online dating” thing intrigued me at first. It is literally window-shopping for your next boyfriend/girlfriend.
If you’re out of the loop on this – first of all, congratulations – but let me give you a brief crash course on how it works, in a nutshell:
- Boy/Girl sets up profile on dating site – includes a picture and a little bio about themselves.
- Other Boys/Girls search for their perfect soul mate. The picture is the bait*, and the profile portion (if done correctly) is the hook*, line*, and sinker*. (*This lingo is in no way a subliminal reference to which particular dating site I may or may not have been on.)
- Boy/Girl finds someone who strikes their fancy, strike up a conversation on the site, and if all goes well there, exchange phone numbers, etc. and then blow each others’ phones up with text messages until they decide to meet face-to-face.
- There are other things, too, like rating pictures, selecting favorites, and my personal fave – the “daily match”. THERE’S the guy I want to meet. The guy responsible for the “matching” – because HE’S an idiot. And yes, I do imagine a GUY being in control of all this, sitting in his college dorm room, drinking with his buddies, like the Mark Zuckerberg of the online dating world, with a lot of “dude, DUDE – check this shit out…” being said.
Another feature of this site is that you can recommend someone for a friend (who is also on the site). I find this to be a really dumb option: “Oh, hey girl – I don’t wanna date this ass-hat, but – YOU want him?!” That’s TOTALLY a man feature if I ever saw one.
This particular “match” was orchestrated by my 21-year-old niece, who also has a profile on the site. She and “Pinky” struck up conversation, but she realized that he was about 15 years older than her, so she said “hey – you should talk to my aunt; she’s closer to your age.” Enter Pinky into the situation.
My intention here is not to brag but rather to emphasize a point. I was getting about 30 messages per week on this site. I did read all of them, but there was no way I could reply to all of them. You’ve got to catch my attention if you want a reply. The “your niece told me to contact you” portion of his message is what got me to reply to Pinky.
We did the usual, chatting/e-mailing, then went to texting each other. It was the usual chit-chat: jobs/family/what do you like to do for fun, etc. – basically just an exchange of witty banter-y crap. I have a long-standing love for large, loud trucks (always have), so he did send me a picture of some of the huge trucks he owns, and the properties he owned – like that was supposed to just melt my pants off or something? Please. It was actually becoming a bit of a turn-off for me. But I get it – he was puffing his chest out trying to make me like him. Whatever. This communication exchange went on for about a week or so.
***MIND YOU – WE HAD NOT MET FACE-TO-FACE. NOT ONCE.***
Then, on a perfectly good Monday afternoon (thank GOD I was off work that day), it happened. He sent me a picture ….of his penis.
Now… it had been awhile, but not THAT long ago. I know what they look like. I also know that in my 35 years of life, I’ve never seen a cute one. Aesthetically speaking, they are just not really attractive. Sorry guys, but they’re not. But when I opened the text and saw that, my first reaction was “what the HELL is that?” This particular one was especially disturbing.
Other than the fact that this image was now permanently embedded in my mind’s eye and it was COMPLETELY trashy and disrespectful, the things that immediately set me off about it were: 1) It was unnaturally pink. BRIGHT pink. Like bubblegum. (Hence, his new moniker). 2) His hand – with disgusting, dirty fingernails – was wrapped around it, apparently choking the color out of it (or into it?) 3) His thigh was showing in the picture as well – with five huge pimples on it. Yes, yes I did count them.
I came un-glued. Not because I’m a prude, but because I found it insanely offensive. Who in their right mind does that? Who/what do you think I am? WHAT in our brief time of conversing gave you the impression that I might be remotely ok with that?
Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.
Naturally, I immediately texted my sister and my niece to tell them what he did. My niece had a similar reaction to mine. My sister found it infinitely hilarious how pissed and offended I was. So I did what any good sister would do, and forwarded the picture to her so she could understand why I was pissed. I wanted her to commiserate. It worked. Both she and the other handful of women who saw the picture understood why I reacted the way I did.
I was honestly at a loss for words – PROPER words. This almost never happens.
I waited almost an hour, and then this is VERBATIM the text exchange that followed (note the time lapses in there – that’s when I was just seething, trying to choose my words):
3:05 p.m. Pinky to Me: Pinky sends me the disgusting picture.
3:56 p.m. Me to Pinky: “Big F*#king mistake on your part. I’m done.”
4:23 p.m. Pinky to Me: “Jeesh. It was a joke, K?”
6:42 p.m. Me to Pinky: “No…’jokes’ are funny. And I can take one just as good as the next guy. This *might* be funny if we were in a long-term relationship. When we haven’t even MET yet, it’s rude and offensive to send something like that to a lady. Yes, I am a LADY. And if this is how you act, makes no difference how big your f*#king truck or bank account is, you are going to attract nothing but trash, which I am not. Just be glad you sent this to me and not my niece, because my brother would FIND YOU and make you apologize.”
6:56 p.m. Pinky to Me: “I’m sorry, I was def not trying to offend. I am truly sorry. I can’t say that enough. I suppose I found that sort of thing commonplace since I have been single. I should not have assumed you were anything like anyone else. U are truly going to be a regret and have taught me a valuable lesson and for that I’m appreciative. I have been sick about this since I did it. What seemed funny was hurtful. Again, I am sorry. And thank you in advance for reading this, with no expectation you will. Regards, Pinky”
7:37 p.m. Me to Pinky: “Read it. Deleting it.”
7:37 p.m. Pinky to Me: “K”
My sister thought I was a bit harsh, as did my sister-in-law. Whaaaaat?? Did you SEE that thing? That’s in my head, like, FOREVER. And I will never know why it was so. damn. pink. -which further pisses me off.
So I got to wondering….would I have been quite as offended if it had been a better-looking (albeit still ugly) penis? Nope. Still would’ve pissed me off. Call me a prude if you want to. Call me old fashioned. I just feel like there should be some dinner/conversation/hand-holding/kiss/ACTUALLY MEETING IN PERSON, etc. before any genitals are exposed in any form.
Guys, if a woman is asking for a picture of your junk while the rest of you remains sight unseen, she’s a trash bag, and yours isn’t the only one she’s asking for.
Ladies, if stories like this from the dating world don’t make your ovaries want to shrivel up and start collecting cats, then I don’t know what will. Oh, speaking of cat-collecting… wait til you hear THAT dating tragedy.