Crazydates

A Date Stuck In The 1970s

Alright, buckle up for a story about my hilarious dating adventure!

So here's the deal: I'm not exactly the coolest dude in town, but hey, I'm in my early 40s and I'm rocking it... kind of.

So, picture this: I stumbled upon this woman on a dating website. Her profile seemed interesting, and her photo made her look pretty cute. We exchanged about seven or eight messages, and it seemed like we had some things in common. We were both middle-aged, trying to be healthy, and had similar educational backgrounds. It was all looking promising.

After a bit of back-and-forth messaging, we decided to have a quick phone conversation. The call went decently well. She was a bit reserved, and to be honest, I'm a tad shy myself, so we stuck to light topics. After a few minutes, I suggested meeting up for coffee, and she agreed. We set a date for the following Tuesday at the coffee shop next to the library.

On the big day, I arrived at the coffee shop five minutes early, bought myself a cup of joe, and snagged a table. A few moments later, my date walked in. At first, I wasn't entirely sure it was her, but apparently, she recognized me from my photo. Here's the kicker: she was dressed like a mom straight out of the 60s. I mean, we're talking proper blouse, button-up sweater, polyester pants that screamed "mom vibes," sensible shoes, and she clutched her purse in the crook of her elbow like a character from an old movie.

I offered to get her a coffee, but she declined, claiming she preferred tea and had just had some at home. So she sat down, all proper and stiff, with her purse in her lap, gripping onto it like she was in a sketchy neighborhood waiting for a bus. Her lipstick was flawless, and her hair, thanks to a liberal application of hairspray, was rock solid in a wave. I felt like I was on a date with "Leave it to Beaver's" mom.

The conversation was equally bizarre. She spoke like she was straight out of a 1950s sitcom. She rambled on about her kids excelling in school, her beloved garden, and how she loved volunteering at the church on weekends. I swear, if I had seen her arrive, she would have stepped out of a Studebaker and flashed a charming smile at the milkman.

After enduring about 20 minutes of chit-chat with Mrs. Beaver, it suddenly dawned on me that I had an urgent appointment with my accountant for an audit... or so I claimed. I made a mad dash for the exit, leaving "Leave it to Beaver's" mom behind.

So, it wasn't the wildest date ever—it was more like a date from the Twilight Zone.

Needless to say, we haven't kept in touch.

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