No Time for Head Games

The date began on the night we met at a "Flirt" singles mixer in a chic wine bar in Denver. My wing couple was Lisa and Doug, married and supportive of my quest to find Mr. Adequate. As a single mother in my 40s, I had seen several Prince Charmings ride away without me. The four main requirements of my future betrothed were he be kind, attractive, and have a job, and his own place. A private entrance to his mom’s basement apartment didn’t count as his own place. I had my standards.

Earlier in the evening, my friends and I snacked on cannabis chocolate chip cookies. However, they hadn’t fully kicked in yet. My girlfriend who made them, assured us they were mellow and would only give a slight buzz to mitigate the anxiety of being at a single’s party.

Who I spotted at the bar was more than Mr. Adequate, at least in the looks department. He had a boyish face, but I could tell he was at least 30 so I wasn’t playing cougar. My senses were heightened—I could almost feel my neurons firing and it gave me the energy and confidence to approach that lucky young-ish man.

I politely waited for him to end his conversation with his friend and I introduced myself. He smiled, told me his name was Steve, and we began the mating ritual typical at a single’s mixer—small talk about our jobs, where we’re from, and our hobbies until one or both of you realizes the other is boring.

Several minutes later, we both still enjoyed the conversation. I told him I had been a teacher overseas and I learned he was a budding stand up comedian. He offered me a drink. It was a good thing too, because I realized my friend had either lied about the strength of the cookie or had a warped sense of the word mellow. The THC hit me hard—it was time to sit down with Lisa and Doug to get a grip on reality.

Tracy, the organizer of the event, a petite heavily made up woman in her 40s, sauntered over to Steve. They hugged and then she introduced herself to me. It was like watching a movie through a fish bowl. I think I told her my name but wasn’t sure if I actually said it out loud. I smiled broadly and my lips stuck to my teeth—it was hard to speak without saliva. With cottonmouth underway, it was the perfect time for a drink.

He was about to say something to Tracy when I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to me. “I need to sit down,” I said. “Can you bring the drink to that booth over there when you’re done?” I asked and pointed towards my friends.

“Sure, I’ll be right over.”

“Thanks.” I was about to walk back to the booth when I decided to spill the beans. Being in Colorado, most people were open-minded about marijuana even if they didn’t use it, but I was peaking. I had no idea what might come out of my mouth.

“Look, I have to tell you this—I had an edible before I came here and….I’m really high.”

He laughed. “That’s awesome. I’ll see you over there.” I was so relieved.

Back at the booth, Lisa was laying across Doug’s lap—not in a porn way—she just could barely hold herself up. Steve came back with two glasses of red wine and slid into the booth next to me. Lisa managed to pick her head up to say hello.

The conversation was flowing, the laughter steady and it felt like we were on a double date. After about an hour, Lisa started dozing with her head on the table. Turns out in addition to the cannabis cookie, she had taken a muscle relaxer. Doug was my ride home but I wasn’t ready to go.

“I’ll take her home,” Steve told him. When he saw Doug’s looks of skepticism, he added, “I’ll make sure she’s safe.” That wasn’t good enough. Doug wrote down Steve’s driver’s license number.

Once they left, two of Steve’s friends joined us in the booth. His friend, Paul, who was sitting across from me began to stare intently at my hair. The blood rushed to my face and my heart rate went up. One thing I neglected to tell Steve was that I was wearing a wig. And I was nervous my cover was blown.

Weeks before, my daughter had lice and the critters traveled to my head. I tried the lice medication but it didn’t work for me so I shaved my head. Without hair, they had no home. While I didn’t mind looking like Sinead O’Connor, I wasn’t confident that guys found bald women attractive. So, I bought a $300 wig that matched my original hairstyle.

Paul leaned in and told me I had the straightest part he’d ever seen. I pretended it was a compliment and said thank you. Paul’s perception something was weird about my hair set off full-blown paranoia. His friends left to get drinks and I decided now was the time to come clean to Steve.

“I need to tell you something,” I said hesitantly. “My daughter gave me lice so I shaved off my hair. I’m wearing…a wig.” Even though he nodded politely and seemed understanding, I continued to blabber on about how lice is common in schools and it isn’t about being clean and I tried to use the medicine but it didn’t work. It didn’t faze him at all which made me like him even more. He suggested we leave the bar and grab a late night bite at the Denver Diner.

We got to the diner and just then it hit me. The bar was dimly lit, it was nighttime so it was dark in his car but once we got in the diner, the fluorescent lights would be revealing. My paranoia continued. Although I had worn the wig in daylight without worry before, I became obsessed with the thought of him examining my hairline and part.

We were about to get out of his car when I told him to wait. “What’s up?” he asked. I sat there for a few seconds, reached for my wig and blurted out, “I gotta be me!” I ripped the rug off my head and instantly regretted it when I saw the look on his face. I imagine it’s how a straight guy might look finding out his date is really a man. Instead of whipping out a penis, I whipped out a bald head.

But I couldn’t back down. “I just can’t be comfortable with that on.” I told myself I did him a favor. I assumed we would end up back at my place after the diner and it was better he see the truth now.

He gasped. “Wow. I thought your hair would just be….short.”

The awkwardness was palpable and I asked him if we could skip the diner. We drove back to my place in silence.

He pulled into the parking lot of my townhome complex. “Well, it was great meeting you,” he said cheerfully, probably wondering if it was too late to meet someone else at the mixer.

“You too. Have a good night,” I replied.

I suppose this experience wasn’t a total loss. The date with the bald lady was great fodder for his stand up act. Maybe if he became famous and used it, I could tell my friends, “Hey, that’s me he’s talking about!” ….or maybe not.

#MyWorstDate