Welcome to Sheboygan, Wisconsin--population slowly inching to 51,000, tucked on the Lake Michigan shoreline just 50 miles north of Milwaukee. I moved here in the dead of winter to take a dream job, the job a million girls in my field would kill for. But it didn't take long for my new city--and I use the term generously--to confirm what I've long known: Sheboygan may be the Bratwurst Capital of the World, but my taste for such, figuratively speaking, is rather persnickety.
Sheboygan has no shortage of men, I assure you. 40% of the city's jobs are in manufacturing, so the male-to-female ratio is quite favorable. On a/an (insert your expletive of choice here) freezing night after being holed up and lonely in my apartment for just over a month, I reconnected with my old pal match.com. Now, back to that plethora of men and my persnickety taste. Yes. One quick search of the eligible bachelors in my area and I immediately expanded my geographic search to stretch 75 miles beyond my zip code.
Sigh.
Relief.
Search results left me...salivating.
I feel it's only fair that I preface these rendez-vous with this: I believe in match.com, full-heartedly. Truth be told, I'd probably be in a very committed relationship with a fella from match if I still lived in Kansas City. But 10 hours is far too far for me. And timing is everything. And I digress.
Bachelor #1 | 34 years old | Milwaukee, WI
Kodak Moment
(If you bust out with Ray-J's "Sexy Can I," I won't hold it against you. I'll even give you this link so you can listen as you read)
I took this kid's humor in our online banter hook, line, and sinker. His handle eluded to CEO aspirations, and of course I bit that one too...until he told me these plans included him giving all his money away. Damn those do-gooders. The manjewelry hanging from his neck took me back to the mid 90s, but I figured if this relationship had legs, that thing could easily walk itself to the trash, right? Apparently I wasn't the only one hypothesizing.
As I devoured my last slice of VPN pizza, I hear my date say, "Oh wow, that was a good one." I look up mid-chew, with sauce dribbled on my chin. He's grinning at his iPhone.
"What?" I ask.
He's still grinning, his eyes reflecting the glow from his phone. "This is great," he tells me.
"Please...please don't tell me that you just took my picture."
I'm horrified.
"--Why?" He still doesn't get it.
"Because it's creepy, that's why."
"...But...suppose this goes somewhere."
"What?"
"You know, suppose we start dating. Or. Suppose it goes even further than that..."
My jaw drops.
"Don't you want a photo to remember our first date?"
I'm suddenly wishing I had more pizza to stuff my face for distraction.
"I don't know, I'm just the type of guy who'd make something to randomly put in your purse....to remind you of this night...when we met....years from now.
Probably a good thing my mouth was empty...I would have choked. I then immediately entered freaked out bitch mode, started laughing and said, "OK creepster, be a good boy and delete that nonsense from your phone."
I should have told him to delete my phone number while he was at it.
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