Bad Dating: The Double Vasectomy


Oh hi; It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I really hoped to never find myself back here, you know, dating again or reviving this series for that matter. As my “luck” would have it (in which I’ve never been much of a believer), I have returned to share with you my latest dating highlight reel.

I tipped this first guy off to my bad dating blog series, so it’s possible he was just throwing me material in hopes of a cameo. I initially wasn’t going to give him the pleasure, but the way it all played out is absolutely too ridiculous to keep to myself. If you’re out there reading this then I hope you enjoy; please feel free to add to or update any details that may be missing/incorrect.

Without further adieu, may I present to you the story of The Double Vasectomy (no, I’m not using the wrong term).
This mister was older, divorced and a father of 2. He was well spoken/well written so, clearly for the English lit degreed lass in me, it was refreshing to engage in conversation with him. Given his situation, I never expected him to be less than honest/straightforward. Why would he need to be fake when his two free checked bags for this flight were nearly bursting at the seams? Meanwhile, my baggage consisted of a makeup case filled with tissues, waterproof mascara and a notebook to write down my feelings. You know, the essentials for the emotionally distressed female.

Anywho, we had a great first date, I thought, and arranged to see each other again. Then that “second date cancelation” phenomenon occurred. You know the one where the person makes up a piss poor excuse because they find themselves less interested than they thought or something better came along but are too much of a vagina to be honest.
He went with a really well thought out excuse, let me tell you. The text went something like this: “my brother surprised me with a trip to Vegas and I’ve never been, so I’m really excited. Can we reschedule our date for next week?” Me: “sure no problem. Hope you have fun.”

I was slightly disappointed, but didn’t think too much of it right off the bat. I had only hung out with him once, after all. A day or two later I sent a him a “hope you have a safe flight and good time” text. His response was something to the effect of “thanks! Boarding now.” It still did not click that he was blowing me off; I may have been a little dense… OK. Fine. A lot. Whatever.

At this point, I would like to shame myself for my own actions because I chose to ignore the obvious and, in rare and pathetic form, a few days later (when I was sure he’d have returned from him “trip”) I texted him to see how it went. Waited a day or two without a response and then completely let go of any ounce of self respect I had to find out what the hell I’d done to cause him to bail. Again, no response. Not that one was expected, but I’d not been single long and was still wavering on the “something is definitely wrong with me” front more often than not. Look. It’s easy to assume the blame when you’re already fragile.

When no explanation came, I found myself mulling over the entire exchange and I couldn’t help but think something just didn’t add up. I mean, I wish my sibling was generous enough to surprise me with a trip to anywhere for no reason at all with zero notice or guarantee that I can get time off of work to go. When I was satisfied with my deduction, I deleted the number and continued on my dating journey a little more cautiously.

As my experience with dating goes, the “planets” oft tend to make a full rotation before dropping out of orbit (most for good). We matched again on a different site and he texted almost immediately to apologize for his abrupt disappearance those many months back and said the reason he disappeared was a really long story. I can’t lie, I let my curiosity consume me; I was itching to know why he had disappeared. How often to does one get a chance to find out the “truth,” right?

His excuse was that an ex claimed she was pregnant; he’d told me on our date he’d had a vasectomy. Guess he forgot, so I reminded him. He said he got a second procedure just to be safe but he wasn’t even sure if the baby was his. Then, she lost it. How convenient? (Maybe that’s insensitive, but I paid attention to the tale of Paul Bunyan, OK?) Anyway, he wrapped up this “long story” with a “if you want to get together and catch up sometime let me know.” And now we’re getting married.

No. I’m totally kidding. I told him where he could publish his bullshit and blocked his number.

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