When I first contacted Andrew through match.com, I was hoping we would have a lot in common because he looked mighty fine in his profile pics–chiseled jaw, cute facial hair, and a down-to-earth, friendly look about him. And he could WRITE–his profile was witty.
(As a side note, that is another reason I abhorred online dating. I would get emails from men saying things like, “Your vary pritty.” While that is a sweet compliment, AND while I can possibly forgive incorrect homonym usage, a misspelling of a first grade spelling word is….well, if you have been reading my blog then you know I just can’t even go there.)
But back to brilliant Andrew. Andrew and I met up in South Broad Ripple at one of my favorite restaurants, Zest. Andrew did not disappoint. He looked like his pics AND he made me laugh. He was drawing pictures on the table (you can do that at Zest) of his life story, and jokingly taking notes about me and my likes and dislikes.
Oh, and I guess I forgot to mention that Andrew was a teacher. I’m a glutton for punishment, because this was AFTER I had went out with Kyle, Jon, and Donald.
But Andrew didn’t seem like those previous teachers. He was easy to talk to and had an engaging personality. We went antique shopping after lunch and didn’t buy anything but had fun telling each other our life stories. At one point we were discussing tattoos, and he stated that he had a large tattoo that covered his chest that said, “Thug Life.” I must have had a very concerned look on my face, because he gently grabbed my hands and said, “I’m joking, Emily. It’s a joke.” My heart went pitter-pat. Andrew was funny.
We went out again next weekend, and had dinner together and laughed a lot. He kissed me goodnight and asked me if I could go out again on Sunday. I accepted, of course.
On Sunday afternoon after church (he even was a church boy!), he texted me to say, “Hey! Do you want to meet up today?”
I was perplexed. “Yeah, I thought we already had plans,” I said.
“Oh yeah, that’s right,” said Andrew. “Hey, do you have a credit card?”
Hold up, here. Crap…he’s not normal.
“Um yes, I own a credit card, Andrew.”
“Can you meet me at the Home Depot on 86th St. and let me use your credit card to rent a carpet cleaner?” he asked.
“What in freakin’ God’s name are you talking about?” I said. Or something like that. Sorry to take the Lord’s name in vain in front of you, Andrew, but you are throwing me for a loop here.
“I only own a debit card, and I tried to go to Home Depot to rent a carpet cleaner, but they said I had to have like a REAL credit card. Can I use yours?” he asked.
And he didn’t even use the word “borrow” or mention paying me back. He said “use.” He was basically asking me to pay for a carpet cleaner for him. So I’m sitting there wanting to ask him two things:
1. What is the freaking urgency to clean your carpets?? Did you kill someone and need to clean up the blood or something?
2. Why do you think it is normal to ask me to clean your carpets on a third date??
It’s funny because I’ve told this story to a few people, and they’ve had different reactions. Some people thought I was judging his actions too harshly. Maybe the poor guy is just OCD and needed his carpets cleaned immediately. But it was the fact that his boundaries were so different than mine–I mean I can’t imagine asking to use someone else’s credit card that I had just met. I felt used, whether or not that was his intention. And I just cannot ignore those feelings. They are a part of my internal guidance system which signals to me that I need to close the door and walk away. Walk far away. Walk all the way into the closet and stuff the carpet cleaner in there and keep walking.
Just like my dad tried to walk away from the police in 1962 in Florida on the day he got arrested. Here is a very short “teaser” clip of the interview to come in this weekend’s blog: