Since my post about my ridiculous Match.com dates went over so well, I thought I would embarrass myself a little bit more, and put up another date story. This is from years ago – and … to be honest with you, makes me look completely ridiculous. (My favorite kind of story.) I call it An Eyeball and a Dozen Roses.
I was living in Chicago, having a grand old time. There were a couple of men buzzing around me. One of them, who was so sweet, so nice, a guy I had seen perform numerous times, approached me at a party and, after chatting me up for a while in a very humorous and effortless way, asked me out to dinner. (He shall remain nameless, although I will say that he has a couple of national TV commercials running right now, and I feel a bolt of weird recognition every time I see his face yapping away on TV).
I said Sure, I would go out to dinner with him. I already knew he was very talented and very funny (having seen him on stage. Henry Kissinger was wrong. Power is not the ultimate aphrodisiac. Talent is. Or – I would say, more specifically, Comedy is the ultimate aphrodisiac.)
As I have said before, I’m not a real date-r, I haven’t been on too many “let me pick you up and we’ll go have dinner” kind of dates. But this guy was very traditional, and so – like a true gentleman – he set up this entire date (picked the spot, picked the after-dinner spot, etc.)
It turned out being one of the best dates I have ever been on before IN MY LIFE. Not because there were amazing sparks between us (there weren’t) – but because of where he took me to dinner, and the people we met there, and what we ended up doing. To give you a small image, it involved a bunch of 70 year old Greek women, caked with makeup, dancing around in a circle, holding hands, holding their hands out to us to join their dance, as their 70 year old Greek husbands, or lovers, stood on the outskirts, throwing money up into the air. 78 year old Greek women picked up 20 dollar bills and plastered them onto their sweaty necks and sweaty 78 year old cleavage. Everyone was LAUGHING, and DANCING, and everyone except for us was over 70 years of age. It was 3 am, and he and I joined the geriatric Greek dance, as money swirled through the air. We scuffed through the bills on the floor.
But that’s a tangent, and not the story I want to tell which is the story of the Eyeball and the Dozen Roses.
During the great date at the late-night Greek place – for some UNFATHOMABLE reason – I told him that my eye doctor had taken a picture of the back of my eyeball. (Great date banter, Sheila. Way to go.)
He: “Your grey eyes look so lovely. I could drown in their sparkley depths.”
Me: “Oh yeah? I should show you a picture of the BACK of my eyeball, pal.”
I have no idea how the subject came up – but anyway, he (bless him) seemed completely fascinated by the idea of having a picture taken of the back of his eyeball. (Or maybe he was just being polite. Politeness was in this man’s veins. He did gentlemanly things instinctually. Holding out the chair, holding out my coat, holding open the door …)
Okay, so there’s the eyeball setup.
During the date at the Greek place – he already set up the next date. “Okay, so Valentine’s Day is next week. And I know we don’t know each other at all or anything, but I think it would be fun to have a date on Valentine’s Day. Whaddya say?”
I said, as I Zorba-the-Greek’ed my way through the carpet of money, “That sounds like fun!!”
So.
A date on Valentine’s Day. I’m not big on Valentine’s Day – not being a romantic type (as this story will OBVIOUSLY prove) – and also: it just seems like a hell of a lot of pressure. But he and I had such an unbelievably fabulous time on that first date, I thought: It’s cool. It’s cool. We’ll have a good time again.
And then I came up with what I considered to be an inspired idea.
I know you all will laugh out loud at me. Feel free. Go ahead. (Ann Marie – I believe you laughed right in my face at the time it was happening. You said something like, “How in the world could you have thought that would be appropriate??”)
Instead of getting him a nice Hallmark-y little Valentine’s Day card, I PUT THE PHOTO OF THE BACK OF MY EYEBALL into a little red envelope, with his name on it. On the margins of the photo I wrote, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
I know it is insane.
I cannot defend it.
I am just reporting the facts of the case, which are: I put a photograph of the back of my eyeball into an envelope to give to a guy on Valentine’s Day.
So I went over to his apartment. We were going out to dinner or something like that. He greeted me at the door, so nice, so sweet. He let me into the apartment – he got me a drink. We didn’t really know each other at all, but we had had (hands down) the best date EVER. One for the books. We were kind of proud of ourselves for that.
He went into the kitchen, and came back out, holding a dozen red roses for me. For Valentine’s Day.
He got me a dozen red roses.
I gave him a picture of my eyeball.
Let me say it again, just so we all are clear:
He got me a dozen red roses.
I gave him a picture of my eyeball.
The second I saw the roses (and I don’t know why I didn’t anticipate that he would do such a thing! He was such an old-fashioned gentlemanly kind of guy – I should have expected it – but I have never received a dozen red roses in my life – I never expect that kind of behavior) – Anyway, the second I saw the red roses coming at me, I remembered the little red envelope in my purse, and I could feel my face getting all hot with mortification.
Oh my God. I am such an asshole. I have given him a photograph of the back of my eyeball. To echo my friend Ann: What the hell was going through my mind at the time that made me think that was appropriate???
My head was literally burning with embarrassment and shame about my eyeball.
I could no longer bear the agony.
I said, “Okay, so this is completely embarrassing, seeing as you gave me a beautiful bouquet of roses … but here’s what I got you.”
He opened it up – and he BURST into laughter. (Thank God.) He thought it was hysterical.
Throughout the night he kept making jokes, pretending he was describing who his Valentine’s date had been to friends who didn’t know me:
“Hey, man, did you go out on Valentine’s Day?”
“Oh yeah, dude, I went out with this sweet girl I just met.”
“Really? What does she look like?”
Long long pause.
“Oh …. she looks like a circle.”
Or – when someone would ask, “What did your date look like?”, he would take out the photograph of the back of my eyeball and give it to them.
“Here she is. Isn’t she beautiful?”
He ended up being very kind about the whole thing, turning it into a huge joke – which I needed.
But that is the mortifying story of a man who gave me a dozen roses, while I only gave him my eyeball.
A Coda:
And a brief coda to this tale –
He and I ended up going on something like 4 dates, stretched out over an 8 week period. Obviously there wasn’t a sense of urgency to it all – Occasionally we would hook up and go to a movie, or out to dinner, whatever – but nothing ever really happened beyond that. There were no games, no weirdness, nothing like that. It just was what it was. I would forget for 4 weeks at a time that he even existed, and then he would call and invite me to do something.
So the whole thing ended when I called him up, after another 3 week break, and asked him to go to a movie, or something like that.
He sounded very hesitant. I could tell immediately something was up.
I said, “You don’t want to? What’s up?”
He said, “Well … I guess I’m thinking that we should slow down.”
I sat there, on the other end, filled with utter blankness. I thought nothing, I felt nothing – I was completely blank.
Finally, random phrases started floating through my brain.
Slow down? What? 4 dates in 8 weeks? Slow down?
And what came out of my mouth, finally, was: “I literally do not know how much slower I can go.”
This was greeted with a deafening pause.
And then what came out of my mouth was: “If I go any slower, I think I will stop.”
An even louder pause from the other end.
So the long and short of it was, we stopped. And to this day, amongst my group of friends, “If I go any slower, I think I’ll stop” is a favorite phrase.
I ran into him a couple of years ago at another party in Chicago, and we had a hilarious conversation about it all. I said, “To this day, that date at the Greek place is the best date I’ve ever gone on.” He said the same was true for him as well.
But I didn’t ask him if he had kept the picture of my eyeball. That would have been too embarrassing.
I really, really should know better than to read posts like this while I’m at work. I almost spit out my soup laughing…(okay, I shouldn’t be eating at my desk, either.) Thank you for the laugh!!
“I put a photograph of the back of my eyeball into an envelope to give to a guy on Valentine’s Day.”
Now there’s something you don’t hear every day–or receive, for that matter. For what it’s worth, it sounds like a perfectly funny and memorable gift to me. However, it is widely accepted that I am borderline certifiable.
You say there were no real sparks between the two of you, yet he asks you out on Valentine’s Day, and buys you a dozen red roses? You may have been missing a few signals. Perhaps your otic gift let him see things more clearly.
David –
I am queen of missing signals. I am very intelligent about certain things, but about other things I am dense as rock.
Perhaps getting a photograph taken of the back of your eyeball dims your ability to pick up on subtext.
I added an epilogue to the post.
Oh man, I love that story. I also just snorted at my desk, which is completely inappropriate. You’re a giver, Sheila, to share this story! :-)
Sheila – This is a GREAT story. I think the picture of the back of the eyeball is a perfectly appropropriate gift. It connected the two dates and signified that the two of you now had some sort shared story of joke. I would have probably done the same hting, especially if I got the feeling that my date realized how silly I felt for having brought it up in the first place.
I’ll have to tell you about the conversation I had with someone a few days after one of several dates that included the phrase “you have inspired me to clean out my drawers.”
Ann –
didn’t you and I have a similar joke while we were in Ireland and I got influenza? Wasn’t it something along the lines of:
“Yes, I am traveling with someone, but unfortunately she has become a disembodied head back at the B&B.”
Well, at least if I become famous – all he will be able to hawk to the National Enquirer is a picture of the back of my eyeball. No scandal there.
If you keep this up, you’ll make living without Sex and the City somewhat bearable! :-)
I just read the Coda. You are killing me. “If I go any slower, I think I will stop.” This is formal notification that I am stealing that line. Perhaps you were doomed by that first date. After that, it was either marriage, kids, the house in the ‘burbs, …or ennui.
David –
see what I’m sayin’???? Isn’t that a great line? And the fact that it did not come out of anger, but out of utter and total blankness…
It is one of those moments where I truly kill myself.
Well, he’s rolling in money now, judging from all his national TV spots … so it wouldn’t have been a suburban life. But it’s okay. He was (and I am sure still is) a very nice man.
Let’s tally up the count: we have duck boots, silly summer hats, scotch, Vanity Fair, and now a picture of the back of your eyeball combined with a fear of going slow.
I’m speechless.
A fear of going slow? Excuse me? I don’t know anyone who would call 4 dates over an 8 week period going “too fast” – and frankly I don’t want to date such a person. He probably felt that the Mesozoic era went by way too quickly. Slow that continental drift DOWN.
And please don’t keep stacking the deck like that. It makes me nervous!
If he keeps doing it, I can start that fistfight with him.
oh shit! here we go again…
nervous? drink more scotch
fistfight? you have no idea :-)
Dude, I’m a wacky eccentric. Always have been, always will be.
I have to admit that if a girl I just met went on a Valentine’s Day date with me, as our second date no less, and handed me a picture of the back of her eyeball, and I, on the other hand, handed her a dozen red roses, on our second date no less, I would be mortified at the inappropriateness of my gift and the utter coolness of hers. But I’m biased because I already know that Sheila is one of the most interesting and coolest people I know. That’s just me.
“I would be mortified at the inappropriateness of my gift and the utter coolness of hers”
Ah…see, David? You flipped it on me … you showed me the other side.
That’s why you rock my world.
I mean give me a break, I’ve been married for almost 12 years and I can count on one hand the number of times I gave my wife a dozen red roses. (He says, boastfully making his point while unknowingly revealing what a shitty husband he is.)
Hm. “unknowingly”….Interesting.
I braved Brien Berueme to berow him against the Loughlins, all her tolkies shraking: Fugabollags! Lusqu’au bout! If they had ire back of eyeball they got danage on front tooth: theres were revelries at ridottos, here was rivalry in redoubt: I wegschicked Duke Wellinghof to reshockle Roy Shackleton: Walhalloo, Walhalloo, Walhalloo, mourn in plein!
opps! sorry, I slipped…
Jim, you are LOSING IT. And I am LAUGHING. The random “back of eyeball” in the middle of all of that…
Duke Wellington?
“Hm. “unknowingly”….Interesting.”
See, now your doing it.
beats the hell out of me, here is where I got it:
Google Search: “back of eyeball”
Hey Red, the back of the eyeball card was original – a dozen roses – that’s sweet and all – but not too unique.
I thought the back of the eye ball card was great – or was it front of the retina?
I once dated an Italian Catholic woman, and for her birthday sent her a card congratulating her on her Bar Mitzvah. We lasted for a full three months after that, so it couldn’t have been the card that did us in…I think…
BF –
Yes. I thought it was original as well.
The photo was of the back of my eyeball – and it basically looked like a close-up photo of the storm whirling around on Jupiter. A large red circle.
Very very strange.
Oh, and Patrick Prescott – want to hear the story about “clean my drawers”. Sounds like it could be a good one.
Hey, don’t knock internet dating. After all, it helped to create this.
But if I were you, I’d switch to eHarmony.com. It’s a much better system. ;-)
Dean –
How unbelievably adorable those pictures are.
The Match.com phase of my life was a long time ago – 1999. Somebody else mentioned eHarmony to me.
Ah, I don’t know. Not really interested in getting back into that whole scene at the moment. Unless I start running out of funny date stories. Maybe I could sign up – just so i can have dates and then blog about them.
Rose and I met through the internet. Personal ads, no less. I even wrote a very popular FAQ about it, although it’s a little outdated now. Several online dating services wound up adapting it for their own needs and reprinting it on their sites. I even had extensive contacts with the Match.com people when their service first went live.
My stone-cold Democrat buddy Ara Rubyan met a woman named Julie through eHarmony.com last May, and he recently proposed. She accepted.
Having looked at just about all the online dating services out there at one point, I really think eHarmony.com is the very best. Much better than Match.com. Their approach is the most interesting and rock-solid I’ve ever seen. I’m convinced that it’s worth every penny, and that the 30-day free trial makes it worth giving a whirl.
We need to hook you up, girlfriend.
Bah.
My best experiences have been completely spontaneous. Organic.
I feel like a jackass on nice little dates where you have to be well-behaved.
And not pass out photos of the inside of your body.
But let me read your FAQ first, Dean. Before I “bah humbug” myself out of existence.
Maybe the eHarmony folks are right and you really can find true love and happiness through proper planning, but I think I’m gonna hafta take my chances with chance. To me, there’s always a scent of desperation in any sort of methodically engineered encounter like that.
Now I readily admit if there’s anyone who ought to be desperate in the area of romance, it would be me. Still, in my case I think I’ll have to forego the temptation to try that sort of thing and continue to hope for a felicitous meeting by happenstance. Sort of along the same lines as red’s statement about the really important stuff happening on the day off from rehearsal…
Valentine eyeball
Tammy emailed me this link today. I love the idea of a present that totally depends on whether or not…