Dog days and dog dates

It's the dog days of summer here in Minnesota.  Steamy days are followed by sticky nights.  The locals like to complain about the heat but we all know it's pure bluster, because none of us wants Old Man Winter to return any time soon.  Here in the land of 10,000 lakes, we take to our patio bars like ducks to water during these hot summer days - sucking down suds and catching up with friends lost over the previous long winter. 

Last night was more dog than I ever dreamed...and it wasn't weather-related.  The date, Todd, and I met at a cowboy-themed bar in a nearby suburb: the patio there is rimmed with a kitschy split-rail fence and dotted with vinyl-upholstered table tops.  I arrived, ordered a drink, and waited.  I checked Facebook, scanned my email, and repeatedly checked text messages.  Ten minutes later, I was irked.  Ten more minutes later, I was ready to go when he finally showed up.  I blinked at him, wondering how the bright-eyed man in the photos on the online dating website could have morphed into this sweaty, disheveled slop in front of me.

 He gruffly apologized for his tardiness; evidently, he was on his motorcycle and couldn't call to say he would be late.  I shook off my ire and decided to open my mind.  After all, he was good on paper: a 43 year old man, divorced for over five years, and a PhD in engineering that landed him a great job with GE in the medical field.  I had reason to feel hopeful.

Fifteen minutes later, I was regretting my optimism.  Todd was bossy, insulting, and egotistical.  And that's being generously complimentary.  He blithely asserted that I was "too happy-go-lucky" and that anyone who had even a small amount of life experience would know better than to be so positive.  It wasn't worth proving otherwise, and I let the comment float away.  He tried again, telling me that it was too bad that I was pretty and knew it--there's nothing worse than a "woman who knows she's pretty" but in the next breath, he complimented my self-confidence.  The contradiction was lost on him.

Annoyed, I excused myself to use the restroom.  As I walked away from the table, I could feel his eyes penetrating through my clothes and I shuddered.  When I returned to my seat, he was ready:

"You know, I can tell from the way that you walk that you must have a tilted uterus," he breezily announced.

I stared at him.  I had no idea what a tilted uterus was, since no one, not even my OB-GYN, had ever said those words to me, even in the course of two pregnancies.

"Every man should be able to recognize that in a woman, because it makes a difference in how he interacts with her," he continued, oblivious to the horror filling my face.

"I took ten years of classical ballet--that's the reason for my posture and walk," I informed him shortly.  What the eff is in this man's head, I thought.

"Well, I'm sure I'm right," he replied dismissively.  "Knowing about the tilt of your uterus means I know how to touch--"

I cut him off.  "Hmm.  Interesting stuff.  Anyway, so tell me about your daughter?"

Without missing a beat, he launched into a proud recitation of his daughter's accomplishments...and thereby saved me any further awkward conversation.  I sighed inwardly, checked my watch, and made my exit plan.

Later that night, as I recounted the ugly details to my best friend, she laughed at my misfortune.

"That's what you get for dating educated men, hon!"