Selma is a 35-year-old government employee who lives in Liberty Village. She describes her style as “hussy chic,” and her personality as spontaneous and easygoing, but hardworking. “I am often too nice, and don’t speak up as often as I should,” she says. Selma has been divorced for six months, and has been “getting her feet wet in the dating pool” again. She met Ryan online.
Ryan and I traded messages back and forth for a while. I was unsure about my level of interest in him, but I was trying to steer away from the usual type of guys I go for. I know now that I want a man who knows what he wants out of life, and who is willing to share that with someone special. I asked him to call me, but Ryan didn’t feel comfortable talking on the phone. That should have been my first clue. He was also 32 and still lived at home with his mom, which should have been my second clue.
He suggested dinner at an Asian-fusion restaurant downtown where I’ve been many times. He wasn’t that bad looking. He had a slim build and curly, short hair and wore glasses that suited him. I was feeling okay about the date until he told me that he didn’t know how to cook for himself or do his own laundry—third clue. When we ordered, he said he didn’t like spicy food—fourth clue. I wondered why he chose this place. When his order of cashew chicken arrived, he immediately began to choke on it, and his eyes watered like crazy. He said it was much too spicy and sent it back. I tasted it first; it wasn’t spicy at all. I thought he must be very sheltered or something. When his next dish arrived, he only ate two or three bites.
By the end of dinner, I knew that I didn’t want a second date. I gave Ryan a modest hug and figured that it was over. Later that night, I received a text from him that said “My whole body hurts.” I texted him back that I was sorry to hear that. Then he texted me that his back, legs, and neck hurt, and that his mother was out of town. I offered some sympathy and went to sleep. In the morning, I got another text from Ryan that said he called in sick to work. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him I wasn’t interested, so I wrote that I was busy at work. I really thought that would end it, but he texted that he wished I could come over and take care of him.
He then sent a series of texts outlining all the things he tried eating but threw up. He also told me that he was experiencing diarrhea, and sent me another text every time it happened. Ryan started pleading with me to help him. I didn’t know what to do, so I just told him to drink Gatorade and take some Gravol. He texted me asking what flavour of Gatorade he should drink, and whether he should chew or swallow the Gravol. I told him I didn’t know. He said he thought he was dying.
I started to just ignore his texts, but they kept coming. The next day, Ryan texted me to report every question that his doctor had asked him, including whether or not there was blood in his stool. A few days later, he texted me again, and said that he could have been dead or in the hospital and I wouldn’t have known because I was ignoring him.
Needless to say, there will not be a second date, especially now that I have the image of this man sitting on the toilet imprinted on my brain.
Selma rates her date (out of 10): 3
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