We ate delicious hotdogs and strolled around the Castle Island grounds. This might sound perfectly lovely, but it wasn't--for several reasons--and don't worry, I'm going to tell you why.
(1) I imagine that a leisurely stroll down the banks of the Boston Harbor is gorgeous and relaxing in, let's say May or June. On October 30th, however, it is a whole lot of gusty. The kind you can barely hear over--unless you shout. The kind that give you a Jersey Shore blowout...and its not even GTL Thursday. The kind that blows your hair down into your throat as your shouting. Yea. I almost choked on my own curl. Pretty damn funny.
(2) My hotdog order came to about $4, and the boy who didn't read, also didn't pay. In fact, he went out of his way to avoid it. Here's a tip: most of us gals don't care what the hell happened to the glass ceiling, we want you to at least offer to pay. Paying on the first date does indicate that you are a gentleman, but does NOT mean that you will have to pay for everything in every subsequent date. In fact, I make it a point to always pay on a second date--to indicate that I am a lady. So just this first date, crack open the wallet, and pretend that chilvary is not dead.
(Near asphixiation + going dutch = -20 points)
The boy who didn't read or pay did, however, talk. A whole lot. Or rather, he shouted over the wind. I barely got a word in edgewise. Among other things, he:
(a) detailed a long story about how he and his father had a falling out several years back, and his dad moved to Puerto Rico and got a new family. They hadn't spoken in many moons. He actually said "many moons" which at the time, I thought was endearing.
(b) He also told me that he had been fighting with his sister as well--over their pet snake. Let's put aside the obvious problems with all the tales of familial fights, lets get down to the snake. If you own a reptile, you should not only hide this fact until date 5 or 6, but really, you should just probably get rid of it. Snakes can't cuddle with you. Or play. They just...gaze...and slither...and creep us out. Get a puppy. Name him Rex. He'll be your best friend. I promise.
(I'm a lover, not a fighter. -10 points)
Sidenote: Did I mention he was drinking a Green Mountain Coffee---thru a straw? Yea, he was. And no, it wasn't iced coffee...kinda like the toolbox in the picture below...but that is neither here nor there.
After our hot dogs (smothered in onions) and Boston Harbor blow-outs (gotta stay fresh to death) we got in the boy who didn't read's car...for a scenic drive.
We drove aimlessly around South Boston, stopping at a Dunks for more hot coffee and straws. All the while the boy talked more and more, until finally we came across a rugby game, and so we pulled over to watch for a bit. This is where things get good. The following conversation occurred in the span of 5 minutes. Rapid fire. Stream of conscious. I'm still not sure what happened.
The boy: I couldn't never play rugby--on account of my knees. (
takes a suck from hot-straw-coffee-thing)
Dfest: Oh, do you have bad knees?
The boy: No, my knees are fine.
Dfest: Ohhhkay....so then, why can't you plan rugby?
The boy: Well, I have really skinny knees. Embarassingly disproportionate to my thighs. Which are huge. I can't wear shorts. Ever. I won't. So I can't play sports. Never could. (turning to me) By the way, you never told me, how do you feel about the Govenator?
Dfest: Ahhhh...the Govenator?
The boy: Yea, you know, Arnold? How do you feel about him? What do you think of him?
Dfest: He's okay, but to be honest, I rarely think of them. Why do you ask? You have a stake in California politics?
The boy: No. I just love him is all. He once told a bunch of policy makers to go fuck themselves. He wrote it right on the policy. In pen. You can google it. Bro is my hero. (straw sip) So, do you read?
Dfest: Ah--uhm--yea, I read. Why? Should I be reading an Arnold biography?
The boy: No, its not that. You seem like someone who reads. And I don't read. I've actually never read an entire book in my life.
Dfest: I see. You are more the magazine/newpaper type.
The boy: Nope. I don't read period. Anything. I've never read a book in my life. Ever.
Dfest: Haha
The boy: I'm serious.
Dfest: How did you graduate high school?
The boy: I cheated.
Dfest: And college?
The boy: I dropped out.
Dfest: Maybe you just haven't found the right type of book? Or the right subject.
The boy: Nah. I hate books. I hate words. Haha. Well, you know...
Dfest: No, I really don't.
In case you were wondering, I'm pretty sure this is what my face looked like during the entire conversation:
(Hatred of words = -20 points)
After this amazing declaration against the English language, the rugby game ended and the boy who didn't read had to leave to pick up some mice for his snake. (No big deal.) The boy dropped me off at the T station and gave me a high five and told me to call him. End scene.
In some cases, I would deduct points for being dropped off at the Wollaston stop, but honestly, I was just as happy to get on the train, enjoy the quiet hum of the redline, and ironically enough, read a good book.
What do you think? Was I too harsh on the boy who didn't read? How would you score him? Do you have a funny dating story that you want to share?
