If you haven’t already figured it out, in edible form I LOVE cheese. In audio form, I do not. It makes me want to punch said cheese monger in the face. Although not a violent person by nature, unless you are putting cheese directly in my mouth (in which case I will instantly fall in love with you), if you bring it near my ears, there will be blood. Most likely from me knocking your teeth out.
A few years ago I met a strapping lad at a friend’s wedding. Quite the dramatic start to this meeting, as he had recently gotten in trouble with the law. Oh, and I also first made out with his brother. Whoops. As fun as all those things sound, however, that is not the main point of my story.
We started a very brief cell phone love affair, meaning we called one another and text messaged often. Due to his ankle monitor, he unfortunately was not able to go out in the evenings, which complicated our dating situation (as you can imagine).
One evening I got this text: Do you like big hugs and long passionate kisses?! Because it’s on my resume.
As I stifled the bile that was beginning to rise up in my throat, I re-read the text to make sure I was seeing it correctly. Was this for real? Although I do find the whole “dating resume” idea to be interesting, I’d prefer to find out about your STDs and mommy issues as the relationship progresses … like normal people. Being the non-confrontational person I am, I chose not to respond to the message and any subsequent text thereafter. Once I’m annoyed, I’m very annoyed. And outside of challenging him to a duel to the death, there is really nothing useful I could find to say.
About a week goes by. It’s your typical Saturday night where I go out with friends and once again tie one off. I wake up hungover (and of course naked) to a new message on my phone, which I eagerly pick up. To my surprise (and horror) it was the Cheese Puff SINGING to me on my voicemail. He sang the ENTIRE “I want to grow old with you” song from the movie Wedding Singer. As his voice droned on, flatly hitting the high C notes, I look around my bedroom for the nearest sharp object to puncture my ear drum.
I should note that at this time we had yet to go out on an actual date. Although I’m sure he was drunk, I wish he would have eaten three burritos and passed out with nothing but his shoes on like most normal drunks. Don’t judge, people.
Again, some girls might swoon at a serenade. Singing to me, however, will result in either a fit of giggles or tirade of rage. That is, unless your choice of songs involve hair metal bands and/or naughty words. In which case I will applaud and coo like a happy baby.
Unless you are a therapist, giant hugs should not be on your resume. Unless you are a soap actor, passionate kissing should not be on your resume. If you sing to me in a voicemail message about how you would like to grow old with me (without first even going on a date), you should expect a call from my lawyer. Even if it was self-inflicted with a dull spoon, you are the ultimate cause of my deafness and I will forever hold you responsible.