The Potty Mouth

Okay, so I did it.

No, not that perv... I went on a blind date. And it was all that I could have hoped for and more. As a writer that is, because there will never be a second date with this guy. For sake of privacy (for all the guys who I encounter) I will change his name. So let's call him Kyle.

Kyle suggested that we meet up for our first date at a Mexican restaurant in between where we both live. I agreed, as I'm a big fan of spicy food and this place is known for some epic guac.

We sat, we did the pleasantries, I noticed he was 10 lbs heavier than the photo I'd seen, and he hadn't had a haircut probably since that picture had been taken four years ago. I decided to stay for the guac.

After I'd ordered myself a fishbowl margarita and some chicken burrito thing I asked him where his favorite place in the world was. He said it was his cottage and I was thrilled- I also have a cottage and it's my favorite place too! Yay, bonding.

But as I dug a teeny bit deeper, he literally dug a lot deeper and told me in great lengths about how he and his father took on a project of building an outhouse for their cottage. I tried to smile politely through my mouthful of refried beans.

Okay, cut to 45 minutes later, my food was mostly uneaten (as it now reminded me of the bottom of an outhouse), and I was three fishbowl margarita's deep. I kept desperately trying to change the subject.... the weather, the Blue Jays, anything really other than outhouses, but this guy was passionate about poop.

When I finally realized that another stinky story or ounce of tequila was going to make me yak, I not-so-convincingly faked a migraine and booked it.

He's texted me a few times to set up another date, but I've told him I'm a lady, and I didn't appreciate the dirty talk.