never practice extreme fishing or lie about your age

My girlfriends and I were sick of hanging out at the same old places and decided to try someplace new. Someone suggested checking out a new bar/restaurant located in a very affluent suburb where the family pet is as likely to be a polo pony as a dog, and most women would never think of walking out of the house without a perfect mani-pedi. Being the adventurous single gals we are, and intrigued to experience the nightlife of the rich and not-so-famous, we decided to go for it.

The place itself was very nice, with lots of exposed brick and touches of brass in all the right places. The crowd was what we expected - very Stepford-esque. Everyone was expertly groomed, and looked like they just stepped off a golf course. The overwhelming number of Polo sweaters in that bar would have made Ralph Lauren proud.

Shortly after our arrival, Bachelor #3 sat down next to me and introduced himself. He had a name the likes of which I had never heard before, and of course I cannot reveal within this blog. It was a family name, and apparently other members of his family had names that were just as strange, such as Happy and Cappy. No joke. What I CAN tell you, because I think it's hysterical, is that my sister nicknamed #3 'Brioche.' Like the bread. Brioche told me that he had retired from investment banking a couple years ago and was now a full time golf pro. Judging from his weather-beaten exterior, which was probably a result of many leisurely days sailing, golfing, or just hangin' with the homies at his country club, I guessed him to be around 45, possibly older.

Eventually, my friends grew weary of the Polo Palace and wanted to move on. Brioche expressed his disappointment and asked me if I wanted him to come with us to our next destination. He said that he really wanted to talk more, and volunteered to drive me in his car and follow my friends, so that they would know I was safe. Failing to see how driving behind my friends could stop him from suddenly veering off into the woods and bludgeoning me to death with his golf clubs, I declined the offer. After giving him my number, I bid him adieu.

I like to Google my dates when possible to make sure they're not convicted felons, and figured it would be easy to find information on Brioche out in cyberspace given his very unique name. I turned out to be right, and found his high school reunion Web site, which revealed he graduated in 1978, making him 48 years old. OK, so he was a bit older than the guys I usually date, but maybe that meant he would be more mature.

I should have known it wasn't going to go well when during a phone conversation Brioche repeatedly asked me if I was excited for our date, if I was nervous, and if I had planned out what I was going to wear yet. Just for the record, guys, these are not appropriate questions. These are the kinds of things that women discuss with their girlfriends, not with their dates. However, I decided to give Brioche the benefit of the doubt and we planned to meet for dinner.

I showed up for our date right on time at 7:30, and stood awkwardly pressed up against a potted plant in the cramped waiting area. At 7:45 I was starting to think I'd been stood up, when a very frazzled Brioche rushed in, muttering something about having trouble finding a parking space. Lesson #1: If you're running late, call! Keeping your date waiting is bad enough, particularly on the first date when it's really important to make a good impression, but not to call is inexcusable and shows a complete lack of respect for the other person.

It was 30 degrees outside and I noticed that Brioche was devoid of any outerwear. I figured the cold had permeated his body and stopped the flow of blood to his brain, making it impossible for him to recall the rules of dating etiquette. Apparently it also had made him impervious to common sense because it was a Friday night and he hadn't made a reservation. It wasn't like we were dining at Robby's Rib Shack - this was a popular, upscale restaurant that is known to get very crowded. Call me old-fashioned, but my opinion is that any guy worth dating will take care of little, common sense details like this, particularly if he's the one who asked for the date in the first place. If he can't properly orchestrate a simple dinner date, there really isn't much hope.

Thankfully, the wait wasn't supposed to be too bad, so we took a seat at the bar, and Brioche asked the bartender's name. "I'm Leah," she said. "Well, I'm Brioche and this is Susie," he replied. It's usually a wise move to make friends with the bartender, so this didn't faze me. What did, however, was when he did the same with the host who escorted us to our table, and also with the waitress. Yes, it's helpful to know the names of the people serving you. But I doubt either of them really cared what our names were. I wondered if he also made a habit of introducing himself to those annoying people in club bathrooms who guilt you into tipping them by handing you paper towels.

It struck me as very ironic that while he was obviously bent on making an impression with the restaurant staff, he didn't seem as interested in making an impression on me. Or maybe he just didn't know how. Shortly after we were seated, he proceeded to cough and sniffle, and then wipe his nose on the arm of his Polo sweater. Disgusting. He claimed it was allergies. For someone who supposedly lived and worked among the privileged, he didn't seem to know squat about basic manners. Brioche then asked me how old I was, and not wanting to reveal that I'd done some homework, I asked him the same question in return.

"I'm 39," he said.

Oh boy. I knew at this point that I wanted our first date to be our last, and I didn't want him to think he got away with this whopper, so I decided to call him on it. Although I did give him credit for trying to pull off a lie of this magnitude, which to me was the equivalent of Gary Coleman trying to tell someone that he's of average height.

Me: "Really? I happen to know you're 48."
Brioche: "WHAT? You're saying I look 48?"
Me: "I didn't say you LOOK 48 - I just said I happen to KNOW you're 48."
Brioche: "What do you mean?"
Me: "It's this thing called the Internet.....I Googled you."
Brioche: "What? I don't understand."
Me: "I put your name into the Google search engine and it brought up your 1978 high school reunion Web site."
Brioche: "Ohhh. Well....actually I'm 49. Age doesn't matter though. I date a lot of women your age, and I've even dated 28 year olds."
Me: "Really? So do you tell the 28 year olds you're 39 also?
Brioche: "Well, yeah."

Spectacular. Lesson #2: Do not lie about your age. Or anything else, for that matter, if you ever want to see your date again. Because it's just a really bad way to start off a potential relationship, and if you're found out, it will not go over well. Even if the woman doesn't dump you straightaway, the relationship will probably be doomed because you will have lost her trust and she will question everything else you've ever told her.

After the age conversation, things didn't get any better. Brioche was perhaps the most tiring, annoying person I had ever met. It was impossible to have a normal conversation with him because every other sentence out of his mouth was geared towards trying to get me to tell him how great he was. It went something like this:

Brioche: So what are you doing this weekend?
Me: I'm meeting some girlfriends for lunch.
Brioche: So, what are you going to tell them about me?
Me: I'm not sure yet. What are your plans for the weekend?
Brioche: I'm playing golf. Isn't this the BEST first date you've ever been on?
Me, trying to be tactful: It's good....
Brioche: No, really. Isn't this your best first date ever? Good food, good atmosphere.....do you want to step out for a second and call your friends and tell them what a great time you're having?
Me: Not right now, thanks. I'm enjoying my dinner.
Brioche: I was just kidding. Do you like my sense of humor? I'm always joking.
Me: So, what do you like to do when you're not golfing?
Brioche: I like gardening, and listening to music. If you hang around with me, I'll teach you a lot about music. So when I walked in the bar, and you saw me for the first time, did you know right away that you wanted me to ask you out?
Me: Well, to be honest, I didn't know immediately.....
Brioche: Because when I handed you my phone you punched in your number very quickly. You really liked me, didn't you?
Me: We'd been talking for about an hour at that point, and you seemed nice, so I was ok with giving you my number. So do you have any brothers and sisters?
Brioche: Yes, I have a sister and two brothers. Are you sure you don't want to call your friends right now and tell them all about me?

And on and on it went. Lesson #3: Never practice extreme fishing. As in continually fishing for compliments. It will make you seem very insecure and self centered, which is a big turn off. I want a guy who is confident in who he is, not one who constantly needs his ego stroked. Plus, why would you want to receive compliments that didn't come naturally, but were forced out of someone?

Throughout dinner, Brioche made a point of periodically looking over at the bar. He said that he really wanted to have another drink over there when we finished dinner, and was worried it would get really crowded. Against my better judgement, I agreed to have one drink with him before heading home. Back at the bar, I learned all kinds of interesting facts about Brioche, like that all of his exes were still in love with him, and that if we continued to hang out, that I would benefit from his extensive knowledge of the arts. At one point he got up to use the restroom, and while he was gone, I asked the bartender for a glass of water. The bartender also brought over a second glass of water for Brioche.

Upon his return, Brioche asked, "Did you get me this glass of water?"
"Not exactly," I said. "The waiter brought it over."
" No, really," said Brioche, "Did you get me this glass of water?"
"Well, I asked for one and the bartender also brought one over for you," I explained again.
"NO!" Brioche said loudly, "What I mean, is, did you GET me this glass of water?"

At this point I was really irritated and couldn't figure out where he was going with this. So, very slowly, I said "Like I just told you, I asked for a water and the bartender brought you one too." To which Brioche replied, "Because I just wanted to say thank you," as he leaned in, tried to kiss me, and got my cheek. "Thank you again for getting me this glass of water." And he leaned in a second time. And for the second time I gave him my cheek.

If that isn't cheesy, I don't know what is. At that point I'd had enough and said I thought it was time to go. Brioche agreed, and as we were walking out he mentioned that he'd parked across the road because the restaurant lot was full. This road is actually a very busy two way highway of sorts, so it's not easy to cross. Call me a glutton for punishment, but that, combined with the fact that dumbass hadn't worn a coat, made me feel sorry for him, so I offered to drive him to his car. He took me up on this offer and I was subjected to him trying to make out with me. I know this sounds awful, but it was just easier to close my eyes, pretend it was someone else, and get it over with rather than fight him.

After ramming his slimy tongue down my throat, and perhaps sensing I wasn't enjoying myself, Brioche said "Susie, I think that you should ask me out on our next date." I readily agreed to this, knowing full well I was never going to call him.

"I really mean it," he continued. " You need to call me and say Brioche, I want to go out again."
"OK, that's fine," I said.
"No, really," he continued. "You need to call me. Because I am not going to call you."
"All right, that's fine," I reiterated.
"Really, Susie. It's up to you to call me," Brioche stated adamantly. "Because I'm not going to call you. I mean it."
"I understand," I said with my teeth clenched. He was like a broken record. I couldn't take anymore.
"I'm not kidding. I'm not picking up the phone. You need to call me."
"OK!!! I get it!" I screeched. "I think you should go now."

And so he was off. And true to his word, Brioche never called me again.