I recently took a quiz on Facebook. The quiz was expertly titled “How Well Do You Know Men?” My score? 0% - Pathetic (their words, not mine). I proudly posted my score for all to see finding it amusing yet realizing that that one quiz pretty much summed up my entire dating and relationship history.

Really giving this trivial yet meaningful quiz a lot of thought I figured the way I had been viewing the opposite sex could actually be flawed. Until 12 hours later when I met Vanilla. In 15 minutes of being face to face with Vanilla I was proven that my initial assumptions had been correct all along and that Facebook was full of shit.

As with any other dating site, much of my time is spent weeding through the social retards and leather wearing, motorcycle riding grandfathers trying to reclaim their youth till you find somebody that doesn’t make you cringe or vomit in your mouth a little. Receiving an email from Vanilla and not feeling the need to leave the table was definitely a good sign. He was tall, brunette, had abs you could wash clothes on and biceps that looked as though lifting my big ass would be a piece of cake. He had all his teeth, lived locally and apparently was a chubby chaser. Yay me! I think. Draw backs included being six years younger than me and him only looking to “hang out”. Still, I responded back.

Thanks to unemployment and a sudden appearance of one of my Wisdom teeth I put my newfound love interest on the backburner. This wasn’t good enough for him. The moment he knew there was a spark of interest he was relentless. Daily emails and miraculously, every time I logged onto the site he was there. If he weren’t so damn hot I would have avoided him like the plague. However, due to my circumstances I could see how I might have been coming across as a tad flaky so I cut him some extra slack for being so tenacious. If the situation had been reversed I would have already probably written myself off.

I gave Vanilla my phone number and let him call me. The initial conversation was decent. I’m not sure if he was trying to assure me or compliment me by telling me how much he loved women with “meat on their bones”. But his emphasis on the matter made me feel a tad uncomfortable. I’m not a freak, I’m not a circus monkey, and I’m not required to purchase two plane seats so he could have left it at “I like thick women”. Once I was able to direct him from the size of my ass the conversation flowed smoothly.

A few nights later we decided to meet for an impromptu late night snack. We chose a café close by and I arrived a few minutes early and prayed that things would go well. A few minutes later he pulled up. We both got out of our cars and despite him looking skinnier than his pictures he was still very cute. He immediately wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me close to him and tried to kiss me.

Wait, what?!? This would have been great if we were in the midst of a Harlequin Romance but we had just met. I gave him a quick hug and gently removed his hands from my hips. He checked me out from head to toe in a way that made me feel as though I were livestock and started to growl his approval. Yes, I said growl. Trying to get out of such direct scrutiny I suggested we go inside for a cup of coffee. He said we would “in a minute”.

Changing the subject from my curves to his upcoming birthday he made a very fateful decision. He started complaining about turning 26 and how old he was going to be. With disdain, I reminded him that I myself was 31 and that being 25 was by no means anywhere near old. To counter, he told me that the aging process was different for women than it was for men. I agreed, pointing out that in the battle of age men were usually the benefactors and women were usually stuck trying to reverse the process. Think Phyllis Diller v. Sean Connery. Who’s sexier? I think you see where I’m going with this.

To make things worse, he started to rub himself. And by “himself” I really mean his junk. The growling started up again and he told me he couldn’t help himself because I was so damn sexy. With disbelief, I caught myself saying “What are you doing? You can’t pull that out HERE!” At which point he told me that I needed to “see it”. I assured him that I had seen plenty of Peni in my day and that NO, I did not need to see his. As if things couldn’t get any more awkward he asked how close I lived and if we could go there. According to Vanilla, he wouldn’t be able to have a decent conversation with me unless he had a “release”. All the while trying to grab at me and bring me closer to him. And yes, we were still in the parking lot.

I decided it was time for me to extract myself out of this particular situation…and FAST. I told him I needed to go and started walking back to my car. The last words I heard escape his suddenly childish pouty lips as I disappeared into the distance were…

”you aren’t going to call me, are you…?”

I’m sure the closing of my car door answered that question. Buh bye.

Two weeks later, I got this:

Him: U still want to meet babe?
Me: What do you mean? We already met...
Him: like hang out
Me: I think I'm going to pass but good luck to you...

Folks, I can’t make this shit up…