Here is another Tinder date. We both swiped right and started chatting. After a bit of that we exchange numbers. Abigail is a cute 26-year-old woman. She is about 5’3″, long brown wavy hair, green eyes, and fair skin. She’s fit and attractive. She arrives wearing a light blouse and a lovely red and white skirt accented by a large white purse.
We meet at Ruth Chris’ Steakhouse on 18th Street. The space was formerly the old Elephant and Castle. I have some great memories with my ex-girlfriend Michelle there. They have spent over $1.2 million on the remodel. The place is gorgeous. I’ll have to see how the food is. Abigail picked the place, and I’m wondering what this is going to cost me.
The place was surprisingly quiet, and she asks for a mistress booth. There are booths that when you sit in them, they pull a privacy curtain across the front of the booth. This way no one can see you. It’s very private. I like that she picked this type of table, because maybe she has some private sexy fun in store for me. I’m down for anything she wants to do.
We order some light fare. Abigail goes with the seared ahi tuna, and I go for the grilled barbecue shrimp. She said she knows this place is expensive, so she thinks we should just have some appetizers and drinks. I couldn’t agree more! A girl who likes the upscale spots, likes some privacy, and has a thrifty side. She just became more attractive to me. Abigail orders a double cuba libre and I go for my usual vodka martini, straight up with a twist.
The conversation is going okay. She seems nice. She works at a local bank as a client services representative. I like that because I used to work in retail banking myself many years ago. So much has changed in the financial industry, but some things still remain the same. Abigail is cute. As we used to say in the banking industry, “I’d like to make a deposit into her account. No penalty for early withdrawal!”
I’m feeling good and sipping my cocktail. But I start to notice something a bit odd. I notice she’s taking some small bits of her ahi tuna and ripping them up with her fingers and putting them into her huge purse.
What the hell? Is she stealing food for later? I mean…I’ve seen people do that with rolls and bread, but not fish.
So naturally I call her out on it. She smiles and says, “Oh, I’m just feeding Ernie.”
And with that she pulls out a fat guinea pig from her purse. I swear to God.
She plopped the thing in the middle of the table and it just kinda chilled out. I can’t believe this is happening.
“You can’t bring and animal in here.”
“That’s why I wanted this table, so we could have some privacy.”
“Here comes the server. Put that thing away.”
“His name is Ernie!” She hissed, as she stuffs the little brown and white creature back into her bag.
“How are you guys doing over here?” says our smiling server.
“I’ll have another martini, and the lady will have another rum and coke.”
The server leaves to go fetch our second round.
“Do you carry that thing around with you all of the time?”
“Ernie is my pet companion. Like Paris Hilton and her little dogs.”
“Yea, but she’s a millionaire, and famous…and those are dogs. You’re carrying around a rodent!”
“Keep your voice down!”
The server returns with our cocktails. I thank her and take a healthy gulp of the icy medication.
“I think this is some sort of health code violation.”
Abigail pulls “Ernie” back out onto the table.
“I really don’t think you should be….”
And that’s when I felt her foot travel along my leg and up to my crotch. I take my eyes off the little fella and look into her emerald eyes. They twinkle, and she gives me a sly grin.
“Okay…okay… Well he is kind of cute.”
I played with the little fella as Abby’s foot played with mine through my pants. Ernie, was soft and cute. I on the other hand, no longer was!
He was really a chill little dude. I’m glad I’m drinking through this date. (Martinis help in any situation where everything doesn’t make sense) After a while, I could tell she was getting a little jealous of how well Ernie and I were bonding. I don’t have any pets, but I have had them in the past. Cats mostly. My father always told me to touch an animal like you would a woman. Very gently. Living things respond to a gentle touch. Abigail was getting fed up at me for playing with Ernie, and back in the purse he went. She also withdrew her foot from my crotch. I could tell that after not eating much, and two double rum and cokes, our girl was getting a bit tipsy.
I was ready to bail and leave, but she mentioned she could go for some ice cream. At this point I figured what the hell, and was cool with it. Maybe it would sober her up. My father used to say he would eat ice cream after he drank, because the milk fat neutralized the alcohol. I always believed that, but most of the time it just made me puke. I also later found out that maybe the ice cream settled his stomach or coated it, there was no ‘neutralization of the alcohol. It was already in your bloodstream by then. But if it worked for my father…
So be it.
So we go to Ben & Jerry’s over on Sansom Street. The place is empty. We get to talking about tattoos and piercing, (none of which I have) and she tells me she has nipple piercings, and I’m like “Oh?” and then she pulls down her shirt, in the middle of Ben and Jerry’s at 8pm and shows me her tits. I just kind of went poker-faced. So then I decide to walk her to her to the corner and hailed her a taxi. She “kiss attacks” me, and well, she WAS kinda cute, so I made out with her, sort of…Her lips were tense the whole time and she licked my teeth.
I bid her and “Ernie” a fond farewell, as I watch the cab disappear up 18th street.
A few days later, I accepted her friend request on Facebook. I noticed that she had a Facebook page for her guinea pig that had more Facebook friends than I did.
I didn’t hear from her for a while. I was kind of glad about that, because let’s face it, the chick is crazytown.
A few months later the guinea pig died and its Facebook was a memorial page where a bunch of people commented how much they missed it. I ‘liked’ one of her statuses and she called me crying. She was hysterical. I calmed her down and promised her we would go out soon, to help ‘mourn her loss’. (Bold faced lie)
I eventually unfriended her, but not the guinea pig.
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