fantasy suite

Edina Devine dared me to write something about her date gone wrong, so I’m going to give it a shot. I’m going to write the entry she hasn’t written — let me channel my inner red-head lady.

I’d been on a few dates via the LavaLove service. They were just fine, really, but a little on the dull side. Leaning this hard on forty I feel my pickings are slim. Unless you’re dating a divorcee or better yet a widower, you’re dealing with never-been-married boy children. It is hard out there for a sister. Anyhoo, long story short, I met Louis, 43, never been married, looking for "friends and fun" via the website. I like friends. I like fun. What’s not to like. We talked on the phone for about thirty minutes to arrange our meeting. My first clue should have been his French Canadian accent. Look, as a good Canadian I’m all for the groovy international vibe our French speakers bring — they’re a nice counterbalance to our national earnestness and well adjustedness. But we pay a high price for that as you never know when mime and various other forms of street theater are going to break out. 
"What eez it zat you would like to be doing for our date?" Future perfect tense. Yikes. I mean I had mastered French by grade eight — why can’t they put a little more effort into their half of the linguistic deal? I told him to meet me at Ricky’s House of Poutine down on Maple Ave in the heart of the Moose Pelt district. It’s really cute now that the gays have moved in and gentrified the whole area. You can barely smell the odor of moose pelt processing anymore. Louis showed up fifteen minutes late and barely touched his extra large poutine. I made some awkward small talk with him about the recent riots over the proposed cutback in welfare payments to heroin addicts from $45K a month to $43K a month — of course it’s the conservatives behind this. They’re fucking ruining the social services network we have in this country. He looked at me, put a finger over my lips to shush me and said, "You look like you like zee hot sexes." I was stunned. "You want to have zee hot sexes wiff Louie, non?" I tried to laugh it off. Had I heard correctly? And before I knew it Louie grabbed my hand, "I haff a very large pee-nus" and there I was being forced to feel up Louie’s pee-nus. I had half a mind to get up and leave right then and there. But I didn’t. The bacon wrapped maple dates had just arrived and you really don’t want to pass them up. They’re Ricky’s specialty. From there we walked over to the cinema where an Atom Egoyan festival was playing for it’s 865th consecutive week. I was fuming! Who did he think he was? Halfway through "Where the Truth Lies" I almost got out of my seat and took off. But then he pulled my hand into the popcorn bucket and before I knew it I was holding something that wasn’t popcorn at all but once again his pee-nus (Canadian spelling). He’d cut a houle (also Canadian spelling) in the bottom of the bucket and put it through. Well I was steamed! No one’s been more relieved to come to the end of "Chloe" than me — well that’s not true, everyone who saw "Chloe" was thrilled to come to the end of that movie.
Louie dropped me off at home and somehow managed to worm his way inside. I happen to live at the top of the CN tower so it was a bit of a long elevator ride to my condo. During that time he masturbated three times in front of me. It turned out to be a good thing though as he was spent by the time we arrived at my door. He managed a halfhearted booby honk before departing leaving me half enraged, half rejected. I agreed to only three more dates with him but once they’re over I’m really going to let him have what-for!!!
I must run now. Tomorrow is Saint Catherine of Genoa day — she’s the one who ate scabs. Anyhow, I’ve got to prepare the traditional moose jerky and decorate the tree. xoxo.