Where: The Place.
What I wore: black tight v-neck and jeans.
What he wore: oh, God. A denim Tommy Hilfiger shirt with light jeans. This guy has no style whatsoever.
What we did: He came down from Westchester. (He stays at the University Club when he's in Manhattan. This is a very swank joint. He often says, "I stay at the University Club when I come to town.")
We strolled over to The Place, which was lovely as always. I had pumpkin ravioli to start, and then the sole. He had scallops and short ribs. We shared a bottle of Malbec. We talked about finance, traveling, family.... uh, yea. He also wants to take salsa lessons with me... Yawn... I don't know what else. He also may have a facial tick. More on this after I investigate.
I went to the bathroom. Things get a little scary for a minute. Brace yourself: I began to pee, and then, with no warning at all, an uncontrollable stream of diarrhea trickled out of my ass.
Okay. "What's the big deal?" you're thinking.
There was no toilet paper. FUUUUUCKKKK.
I franticly looked for paper towels. None. I tried to check under the sink, but it was nailed shut. NAILED SHUT!
Okay, by this point panic had set in. No paper on the back of the toilet, none on the shelves. Nothing. There was nothing. I was trapped. I could have used my underwear, but I wasn't wearing any. My ass kept on spewing out whatever I had eaten for lunch.
Then I saw the doorknob wiggling. And then, from the other side of the door, as if things couldn't get worse, I hear Dude's voice asking the waitress if there is another bathroom. OHMYMOTHER. My date is trying to get into the bathroom and I am having explosive diarrhea and there is no toilet paper. I am going to die.
At this moment I am praying that a) he will go back to the table and NOT go in the bathroom right after me. And b) that paper products of any kind will magically appear or fall out of the ceiling.
He does give up and go back to the table. But no paper magically appears. I am desperate. So I look to the only place I can: the trashcan.
Oh god, I feel dirty and exposed just writing this down. I begin digging through the trash. All of the paper towels are moderately wet with what I am hoping is just a little water from people wiping off their very clean, freshly-washed hands, and not something disgusting, like, say, fresh snot, or semen left over from a quickie in the bathroom by a hot couple who just couldn't wait.
I start wiping my burning ass with other people's used paper towels. I am hoping to all that is good that I am not going to get e. coli or syphilis or something worse.
I return to the table to find Dude slightly sauced and wanting to make out.
We share chocolate martinis for desert. Quite frankly, I was on high alert in the butt area and found it hard to feel romantic at all. At one point he put his hand on the top of my butt and I knew it was time to call it a night. He wanted me to go to another bar and meet his friends. I opted for no.
High point: pumpkin ravioli.
Low point: countless moments of panic in the bathroom.
Chance I'll see him again: 0%. I am blaming the diarrhea on him. We will never meet again.