I was recently set up on a blind date through one of my best friends. She knew I was looking to meet someone out of my norm and wanted to set me up with her client. She promised that he was a gentleman and very sweet, so I agreed. This was already heading in the opposite direction of what I usually go after!
I talked to Beach Comber Larry a couple times before going out to dinner. He made me laugh. I made him laugh. We had a lot in common and I had passively mentioned that I was a huge fan of the ocean at night. I told him that I found it very romantic and one of my most favorite things to do in SoCal.
The date soon upon us and we went to a lovely dinner in Santa Monica where I got to know him a bit better. He was very nervous, which I find kind of cute at times. I like to let the intimidation set in just so they know I’m not one to take their bullshit down the road. He then said he had another surprise and I kind of predicted it, given the location of dinner.
He took me to my favorite beach in Malibu, drifted out towards the water and plopped our asses down in the sand. After about an hour of talking, he kissed me. (I did deduct points because he had no blanket ... no champagne ... no nothing ... BOOOO!!!!) After about 15 minutes of heavy kissing, we were called out by the local security to get the eff off the beach. We made a mad dash to the car and Beach Comber Larry realized once we were at the door, he did NOT have his keys.
FML!!!!!!!!!! I had a very important meeting the next day and I was not looking to stay out too late. We explained to security that the keys are somewhere in the sand (he didn’t even let us use his flashlight) and followed our tracks back to where we were sitting. I told him to be very careful to not push the sand to the side without feeling through it first so that he doesn’t bury them deeper.
After about two hours searching for the keys, he calls his friend to come pick us up. All my belongings were in his car. My purse, cell phone, my pride, dignity and all interest for this man. Locked away. I was irate, but showed my cool side. His friend finally arrived and we agreed on one LAST sweep. We searched side-by-side to overlap each other’s comb through. I realized... this fool is not paying attention or listened to me from the start and saw a mound on his other side. I reach over and combed through the pile and LOW AND BEHOLD ... a bunch of keys fell into the palm of my hand!!!!
He was in love. I was filled with anger.
I eventually got over it and can laugh about it now, so for his birthday, I got him a zen sand box and hid little diary keys throughout the sand. He opened it and had the most confused look on his face. He kept asking “What is this? I don’t get it.”
His friend sitting beside him asked “Does it have something to do with something in the sand?” Beach Comber Larry starts sifting through the sand with the little rake and finds the various keys. Again, the effing moron Beach Comber Larry says “Ummmm ... I still don’t get it.” His friend, finding enjoyment in this game, even though he didn’t know the story, starts making guesses... “Keys in the sand??” “Did you lose keys in the sand?!??!!”
My anger came back ten-fold since I realized that I was dating a guy that just does not pay attention to SHIT!!
Sorry Beach Combers, the only thing that I'll be combing is the pony.