Red Flags

“My ex was amazingly gorgeous and brilliant. She was the love of my life. Men asked her out all the time. They would just walk up to her on the street and ask her to marry them. I don’t think beauty and brains go together... normally, ” he said taking a pause to down some sizzling garlic shrimp, continuing only after considering me from across the table for a moment. “You’re really smart.”

Thanks, first date, thanks. Thanks for extolling the utter perfection of your ex for 20 minutes to then tell me that I am intelligent albeit the recipient of the short stick when it comes to beauty. I was tempted to point out that the drunken men who lived by the 711 under my old apartment would ask me to marry them every evening after serenading me with “I Just Called to Say I Loved You.” However, before I could get the stunned expression off my face, he continued with his litany of all his ex’s remarkable virtues.

“She was well traveled, cultured, loved fine wines. She is everything.” Ramble, ramble, ramble. Queue me downing my sangria at an alarming rate.

“Ah.” More sangria for me. Why did I suggest tapas again? This could be the longest dinner ever...

“But, my parents didn’t approve. My mom threatened to commit suicide if I married her. So, it ended.”

“Ah, well.” I stare at the garlic shrimp forlornly. My sangria is empty.

“You’re great company. We should go out again.”

Check please!

Queen of Spades