I dated a 29 year old virgin. And I do not hate on his choices for his life. He wanted to wait until he was married more power to him. The fact that he was a virgin was the least of my worries. He was very open about his decision to wait and in a way it was kind of nice to find someone who had some morals left. He was a botanist, he made me planter (which quickly died in my care.) He tried teaching me about plants and trees and I just kept telling him I liked Dandelions (nothing more than a weed not a plant by the way but I happen to adore them). Then after our second official date (I say official date because in a matter of two to three weeks he had just moved himself into my life without my permission other than these few occasions) he had named our children. OUR CHILDREN WE DIDN’T (and wouldn’t) HAVE already had names. And he picked out the type of dog we were going to have to practice being parents and where we were going to live. What OUR fictional children would call his mother along with the fact that he wanted to name OUR one fictional daughter after his mother… which had a horrific name like Agnid. And he insisted I would breast feed, which is a whole different rant for me but not happening.
Despite the nonexistent happily ever after fairy tale he had invented for us, the thing that really bothered me for some reason was that every time we went out to eat or stopped to get a drink through a drive through or even at my house he had to have milk. He had gone through two gallons of milk in two times at my house. We went to P.F. Changs and he tried to get milk… you can’t get milk there!!!!! They don’t have milk!!!! He considered going out to the gas station down the road and coming back with milk. Most places only carry milk for children. So there we’d be on a date (me with my alcoholic beverage) and him with his little kid carton of milk and swirly straw. To top off his milk and creepy planning of my entire life, he was a terrible kisser and let’s be honest, it’s all in the kiss. It can make or break even the best of dates. He had informed me he was attacked by a dog as a child and his face had to be reconstructed near his mouth. You couldn’t visibly tell except for a tiny facial scar near his left side of his lips. There was nothing creepy about it until he told me that he had no feeling on that side of his face. I didn’t think it was possible to only use half of your lips to kiss but he did and it was terrible… the rest just sat there completely uninvolved. To make matters worse he was just bad at it in general. Now I love me a man with scruff and facial hair and I’ve NEVER had an issue with it. But his kissing was so bad it was like smearing sandpaper across my chin while a wet rag was rung out over my face. I ended up with a rug burn on my chin and refused to let him kiss me again. My face oozed trying to scab over and it hurt. And I looked like I had a flesh eating disorder.
By official date three he was just showing up at my house as I was trying to avoid him. I tried ignoring his texts and I tried telling him I was horrible person. But he just wouldn’t go away. He was like the cat you feed once and it just keeps coming back. Only I did not feel bad for him… I wanted to slap him constantly. He annoyed me, with everything he said and every time he took a drink of milk I wanted him to choke on it. He was unbearable and was trying to force me to go to church with him. I do not like when people try to force me to do anything.
I couldn’t take it anymore. It came to the point where he was talking to me as I ignored him until he said “And though you have three tattoos I’ll over look that you just can’t get anymore…” Excuse me I said? To which he obviously repeated himself. This was it. It was now or never, I had to get rid of the milk boy no matter what the cost. I jumped up made some very rude comments threw his gallon of milk on to the porch and told him he had to leave that no one was going to tell me what I could or couldn’t do. And he smiled and said “You’re just a little upset right now I’ll see you tomorrow.”
So I began hiding my car. Staying out or going out for as long as possible because he would try to stop by he kept emailing me about stupid “memories” in the short time we had shared. He even brought up our nonexistent children when he cried on my voicemail. After ignoring him, not responding to his texts and blocking all contact with him, I thought I was finally free.
But the cat came back. He just wouldn’t stop. And to this day now nearly two years later he still randomly emails me wanting to hang out like old times… and how much he misses me. What I find ironic about this is that I was mean to him 99% of the time we were around each other. I considered him nothing more than three dates and he considered me marriage material.
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