Cryptic Messages and CIA Training

So I get a voicemail last week from a guy I dated briefly last summer.

Hey, Audra. Gimme a call. There’s something I want to discuss with you.

I haven’t seen this guy in almost a year. Oh great. He has AIDS. I freaking knew it.

I call him back and when he answers I brace for the bad news.

It’s worse than I thought.

He wants to sell me Amway.
************************************

This is my life. My dating life anyway. Brief moments of optimism sprinkled on top of a giant soufflé of weird.

Of course, the weirdos all seem so normal at first. I would like to make a motion that we start requiring single men to come with warning labels. Like cd’s or cigarettes. “Dating this dude is dangerous to your social, mental, spiritual, and/or emotional health” or something more specific like “Has been known to exhibit stalker qualities after two dates.” Hell, I would even appreciate the occasional “Pyramid Scheme Sucker” footnote. (At least I wouldn’t have an STD heart attack when he randomly calls several months later and leaves a cryptic voicemail.)

Sometimes I wish I could just Wikipedia a guy before even going on one date. Get the low down. The scoop. The dirt. Call it something like The Dating Girl’s “Guy’d” to the Universe.

Ooh. I love that one.

Unfortunately, if I tried to start something like that it probably wouldn’t go over too well.

Yeah, it’s called slander and it’s not exactly legal.

Sigh. Why is the fun stuff always against the law?

And so, like a dating detective I watch for red flags, take mental notes about the contents on Facebook, ask around trying to discern if this dude has a bad reputation, several illegitimate children, or a wife in Idaho. And all the while smiling politely, giggling when appropriate, and making witty conversation.

A few more years of this dating shennanigans and the CIA really should consider hiring me. I'll be so damn qualified at subtly assessing someone's character that I'll be able to determine citizenship and blood type three bites into a steak dinner.

That's a talent that's gotta be worth something.

Oh well. For now, all I really care about in my little dating world is that the next time the phone rings.

It isn't some former frog calling.

Trying to sell me Amway.