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The brilliantly talented Collette Cameron wants us to reveal some of our dating secrets (and not the fun ones). Well, here's mine:
Self-sabotage (if that’s what it was) isn’t pretty. But then, neither was my date with Dennis.
Our parents thought we would be the perfect match. He was a handsome lawyer from THE family in town. I had decent credentials myself. The problem was he just showed up one afternoon when I was checking the thermostat on my car. Complete with a grease stain on my nose and dirty fingernails. Lovely.
My mother was aghast, so I quickly washed and changed into something appropriate. Wait a minute. He just appeared. How was I expected to know? Or, should I just dress up every day, looking perfect, on the off chance my dating life might pick up?
He took me to a restaurant and I did try to be charming. He was everything a future husband should be, after all. Here’s the thing. He smelled funny. Not bad like onions or body odor, not cologne-y. Just funny. There’s no other way to explain it. The scent seemed to linger in the back of my throat.
After we ate, I wasn’t feeling well, so he took me home. That smell lingered and I was no sooner in the door than the vomiting started. And continued. Until I was laid up in bed, thinking I would have to get better in order to die.
He stopped by the next day, again unannounced. This time, though, he was trying to be considerate, although I would have preferred a phone call. My skin was still a lovely shade of whitish-gray. He only stayed for a moment, since I began to feel nauseous again. It was that smell.
Needless to say, we went our separate ways. He is now a multi-zillionaire and I write books about relationships that don’t fail. I wonder if he still smells?
Let’s commiserate with Veronica Forand on her disaster.
Veronica Forand - http://www.veronicaforand.com