Dating tip: Don’t bring your dog

I had nothing to do on a Saturday afternoon, and I know myself: if I don’t have a plan to leave the house at some point during the day, inertia sets in, and following that, I get really bummed out. So when Mr. Good Time called in the morning to set up a date for that afternoon, even though I’d learned through hard experience not to accept last-minute dates, I decided this was fine. It probably wasn’t going to go well, anyway, but at least I’d get out of the house.

We met at an outdoor patio of a coffee shop by the lake. Lovely scenery, lots of people lounging around outside—perfect for a first meeting with a stranger. I was surprised when I saw he’d brought his dog along, a big Golden Retriever. I don’t normally like dogs, but this one was surprisingly chilled out and lounged happily under the table while Mr. Good Time and I proceeded to have the most boring and painfully awkward conversation possible. This exchange actually took place, and remember, I’m meeting a stranger here:
Me: Since you’re not from here, what made you move to Austin?
Him: You.
Me: What? You just met me!
Him: I just had a feeling.
Me: Um, no, for real…

The best part of the whole date was when he left the table to get us some coffee, leaving behind his dog, who was plenty nice. He’d also left behind his Wall Street Journal, which I don’t usually read, but was glad for an opportunity to check it out and pick up some investing tips along the way. Unfortunately, he returned to the table and the conversation had to continue. Meeting strangers has made me a pro at small talk.

I had plans later that evening to attend a birthday party, and the birthday boy wasn’t even really my friend, so if this date had gone well, I would’ve blown off the party completely. But as this date was on a speeding train to Nowhere, the party was looking better and better. So I began the polite “I need to be going” dance, and Mr. Good Time invited me to the dog park with him and his dog. I had to decline, but thanks for a lovely afternoon, nice meeting you, blah blah blah. As we were standing up to shake hands, I looked down and noticed the dog was standing, too, under the table. The dog seemed to be having a problem; its sides were heaving. To my horror, the dog started puking right there on the wooden deck of the coffee shop, entirely too close to my feet, ill-protected from dog puke since I was wearing flip-flops. It looked like diarrhea. Of course, Mr. Good Time was horrified—properly so, as far as I’m concerned—and since I didn’t know what to do for the dog or for the situation and I was completely grossed out and I REALLY NEEDED TO GET GOING TO THIS VERY IMPORTANT PARTY, I just walked off. I wished them both the best.

I thought, I live in a city. There’s no way I’m going to see this guy again. Wrong. I was with another date, walking around the lake downtown, when I saw Mr. Good Time there, too, walking his dog. He actually stopped to say hello. “How’s your dog?” I asked. Good, good. Mr. Good Time said he was moving to Canada the next day. Have a nice life! I said. But a few months later, I was on another date when I saw Mr. Good Time again, downtown. Did he move to Canada after all? I don’t really care. But I do know that either I have been on too many dates, or this town is way too small.

Clearly, I’ve gotta get out of here.

UPDATE: The Best First Date Ever was recently eclipsed by The Best AND FUNNIEST First Date Ever...more later...