Standing in the parking lot after our "cup" he asks when I'd like to go out again. Now, I could lie to him and say "Call me, we'll figure something out." But I don't. I am honest and I thank him for the date but I'm not interested in seeing him again. He asks me why. I respond politely, "I'm just not getting butterflies."
"Butterflies? You're breaking up with me over fucking butterflies? Jesus, what does a guy have to do to turn you women on? What do you want from us? You think love is really that important? Like you're gonna fall head over heels for somebody on the first date? Like love even really exists? It's all a bunch of bull shit you know. There is no love just like there is no God. It's all just part of your fucking imagination."
And then, I shit you not, he says "So I guess this means I'm not getting a kiss on the lips?!?!"
Um. No. You're not.
Ready for the clincher???
He gets into his car, sits down, and starts to cry. Sobbing against the steering wheel. Hands over his face, keys not even in the ignition, cries out loud.
I'm parked right next to him. I can see he's in tears. But should I feel bad for a man who just screamed in my face in a parking lot? Should I call somebody? Get help? Dial the suicide hotline on his behalf? Or just drive away?
I leave, grateful to God that I escaped the torture of a second date, knowing full well that someday, a really great man will come along who will give me butterflies!!!