Oh, my friends, when I was presented with this topic, I had a veritable smorgasbord of cruddy evenings to choose from. Would I write about the guy who dropped me off at the curb and drove off when he saw me fall face-first into the snow? The guy who picked me up in a Dracula cape when it wasn’t Halloween? The guy I met at Bikers Nearby that I later dubbed “The Great White Tongue”? The guy who told me I “wouldn’t be on the shelf for long”? The sweet first-date guy who seemed so normal until he was dropping me off and politely asked me to twist his nipple before I went into the house?
Need I go on?
But the date I’m choosing to write about is a multi-horror. Oh, and it wasn’t mine. Not exactly. Lemme ‘splain.
In 1988, I was doing summer theater in California and was paired up onstage with a handsome fella who quickly became the coveted hottie of the entire cast, because he had been in a MOVIE. Oh, sure he didn’t have any lines and they only showed him from the side and the reason he got the part is because Jason Robards was in the film and they needed someone who kinda looked like him as a young man for a three-second flashback shot, but still… MOVIE.
So all the girls at the theater were waiting to see who Young Jason Robards would choose for his summer romance and lo and behold, he asked me out on a date. Which was thrilling until he told me we were going to the beach.
Did I want to go to a beach on a first date? No. No, I did not. I was not a California Gurl, I was a pasty Midwesterner with a suspect bikini line who never went anywhere without a full face of makeup. But… MOVIE. So I said yes and dashed to the mall for waterproof mascara, a bottle of QT and a home waxing kit.
Sadly, there was not enough QT in the world to hide the gargantuan pimple that showed up on my nose the morning of my beach date with Young Jason Robards. Nor enough concealer. Nor a wide-brimmed hat wide enough or brimmed enough to hide that mutha. And even though that zit was large enough to be the third wheel on our date, apparently this was meant to be a double, because Young Jason Robards showed up at my door with a buddy, a short, squinty, mean-spirited techie from the theater whose name escapes me now, so I’m just going to call him “Beetlejuice”. Before Young Jason Robards could even get “hello” out, his eyes went straight to my nose, his mouth made a little “o”, and Beetlejuice let out a low whistle.
The date went downhill from there.
But, as you recall, I identified this as a “multi-horror” and so I must continue with what went down soon afterward.
A few days later, with both my ego and my zit deflated, I heard that Young Jason Robards was going out on a date with another girl in the cast who was a dead ringer for Melissa Gilbert in “Little House on the Prairie” and who henceforth shall be known as Laura Ingalls Jr. And now, as I share with you Part 2 of The Worst Date Ever, just know that I know all the details because Laura Ingalls Jr. relayed them to me later, not because I was stalking them.
Young Jason Robards took Laura Ingalls Jr. to a carnival that was in town and having left Beetlejuice at home obviously enabled them to move much more quickly, because they went from the pizza stand to the hoagie cart to the ice cream shop to the funnel cake shack with lightning speed. And then Young Jason Robards, in his continued dating wisdom, suggested that the perfect follow-up to pizza, hoagies, ice cream and funnel cakes was a ride on the Tilt-a-Whirl.
Legend has it that the Tilt-a-Whirl moves so fast no one can hear you scream.
Or vomit, apparently.
Somewhere in between the fourth Tilt and the fifth Whirl, Young Jason Robards puked into Laura Ingalls Jr.’s hair. She screamed, but (see above). On the seventh Tilt, he puked against the inside curve of the car and on the eighth Whirl, it splashed back into Laura Ingalls Jr.’s face. She tried to escape, but the centrifugal force pressed her back into the line of fire. And and on it went, as every last molten globule of partially digested pizza, hoagie, ice cream and funnel cake spewed out from Young Jason Robards like an endlessly spiraling fire hose of Worst Date Ever bile, drenching Laura Ingalls Jr. in its evil spray.
When she told me the sordid tale afterwards, I rubbed my diminishing nasal-blemish and felt vindicated.
But it’s a funny thing about Worst Dates Ever. Sometimes, in a veritable rom-com ending, they can become the Best Date Ever, as evidenced by the fact that Young Jason Robards and Laura Ingalls Jr. fell in love after the yak-fest and stayed together for years.
But don’t worry, I didn’t marry Nipple Twist or The Tongue. They’re still out there, I assume, and probably providing Worst Date Ever blog fodder to many.
Now hop on over to my wonderfully talented and lousily-dated friends: