Earlier this week, I wrote about my flagrant disregard for Valentine’s Day. But a small (minor!) detail–a teensy admission about a particular ex of mine–seemed to garner the most attention. Yes, I went on a date with a hobo killer–but that’s not why I stopped seeing him.
Ironically, the reason I even went on a date with the hobo killer is because of Valentine’s Day. Full circle. Last V-Day, before gorging myself on delicious Olive Garden carbs, I was sitting at home on Facebook. Sometimes I approve Facebook friendships with people I don’t know, because I assume they must have better memories than me. I mean, sometimes I’m drunk. A lot. Why else would they want a Vaseline-smeared window into my virtual life? One of my new virtual friends began chatting me. We hit it off! He had a quote from one of my favorite bands on his page. He was cute! And South American! He had taught himself English by watching “Arrested Development.” Were we soul mates?
He asked me on a date. We made a plan to meet up the following week. He wanted to make me dinner at his house, which seemed a bit forward for a first date. So we met up, instead, at a local Peruvian restaurant. We chatted and discussed his really intensive last relationship, which lasted nine (!) years. It seemed that he met his last girlfriend when he was only 14. They ran away from home — Lima, Peru — together and moved to the Peruvian city of Cuzco, where they lived a life on the streets and in squats. This, of course, made him, like, a zillion times hotter to me.
We continued to chat and he apologized for his English being less than perfect. I made a small (innocent!) joke, meant to make him feel better and lighten the mood: “Well, unless you’ve killed a hobo or something, I think we’ll get along.”
Well, guess what? Guess who killed a hobo? Right.
“Actually,” he began. “I feel the need to tell you this.” He then launched into a sad, scary story about defending himself against a drunk homeless man in the streets of Cuzco. The man attacked him, and he stabbed the guy in the chest with a broken bottle. He didn’t mean to kill him. The man’s death was in the papers the next day, but he was never caught for the crime.
But also … this was a lot for a first date. Way too much. Some might ask, well, when would you prefer a guy tell you he’s killed someone? That’s tough. Maybe … let’s not date guys who’ve killed people, okay? That would solve the problem.
And yet! Despite that, I did not walk out on our first date. I stayed. I even accepted a second date to a movie, after which he wanted to call me his girlfriend. And that — not the hobo killing — was the final straw. Why so fast, so impulsive, so desperate to move things along? I mean, geez, we’d known each other for less than a week, he’d admitted to murder and asked to take a serious leap into a relationship. Sort of pushy, I thought. And so I kindly declined.