So my boyfriend invited me over to his house for a romantic dinner for two. Translation: I want to sleep with you tonight. SO anyways... I arrive and he is trying his best, being that he's a guy that can't cook. Menu is spaghetti. Spaghetti isn't really a romantic food... it's what you get at elementary school lunch, or on the side at the Olive Garden. It's the type of food that actually can make the night go worse.... sauce all over your face, spaghetti slurping, fork spoon positioning, noodle mishaps... too much going on there. When I was a kid my mom made me put on a hot pink sweatshirt whenever we had pasta because I was such a messy eater. I pretty much still am.
He had been trying to make this pasta for awhile, because he didn't know how to turn on the stove. He kept turning on the oven instead and was dumbfounded that the top of the stove wasn't boiling the water. After awhile I took pity and helped him. He boiled that spaghetti for a looooong time. It was like one big glued together mess that he drained and cut in half with a knife and slapped on two plates, then poured canned sauce on top. Bon Appetite!
Problem was that he lived with his Dad, who also planned to bring a girl home for a Romantic Valentines Day Dinner. Just as we sat down to congealed noodles, his dad came home with a girl.
He started yelling at my bf for being home when he wanted to be alone with his girl. He yelled at him for using plates. He yelled at him for using his food, to feed a stranger. He yelled at him for using the fireplace, and wood that didn't belong to him to burn in the fireplace. He yelled at him for making a mess in the kitchen. He yelled at him for not knowing telepathically that he was inviting his own girl over. He yelled at him for everything under the sun. It was so uncomfortable and awkward. At first I thought maybe it was some kind of act, but I soon stopped laughing when I saw his crazy angry eyes.
He called me every name in the book. The B word, the A word, and even the C word. Right in front of his guest, his son and as far as I know all the neighbours could hear. At least one person heard, because they CALLED THE FREAKING COPS when they started to hear glass smashing.
He smashed the plates we were eating off of, the bowl of spaghetti, the glasses of wine, and then he threw a pot from the kitchen into the dining room and smashed a mirror.
So... cops show up... as I am putting my shoes on and leaving through the back door un-noticed.
I took the bus home. On valentines day. After some guy's dad called me the C word.
Note: This also explains why I never want to meet a guy's parents, and why I like to date orphans.
HAPPY BLACK TUESDAY TO YOU....