I am a big proponent of airing it all out– which is why I never wear panties when I sleep. Today’s blog ain’t easy for me to admit but I must educate you all about the dangers of dating online. Behind those Bumble-Tinder profiles are all kinds of boys: Fuckboys, mama’s boys, closeted gay boys, but the worst of them all Poor Boys. I have a deep-rooted fear of this particular species; that’s why when a guy picks me up in a luxury car I always find a way to sneak a peek in the glovebox to make sure it’s his name on the registration. Your S550 was cute, until I saw it was a company car. Not impressed. Next.
David B. was smoking hot. Had to swipe right. We chatted for a few hours and he asked, “Are you feeling adventurous right now?” It was 2am on a Wednesday… So obviously my answer was YES.
As I always do, I requested that he send me a photo of his Driver’s License. My gf Ally is used to it, This is David. If i go missing he’s the #1 suspect. Also my ex is not allowed at my funeral. Love ya! Kissy face emoji! David forwarded me his passport (fancy!). I had one stipulation: bring me Del Taco, because showing up anywhere empty-handed is so not kosher.
I live in a Labyrinth with gates and codes and security, so I’m really not worried about stalkers. I give major cross-streets, but never my actual address. As an extra shield of protection, I always insist on giving verbal directions- making it impossible for anyone to come back uninvited. So when David gets to the gate, he calls. First words, “I couldn’t find a Del Taco on the way.” Bastard! I should have hung up right then. But no, I had to be nice and give him directions. It was annoying, because this guy was driving super super slow. I would say Make left at the stop sign and like 2 minutes later he would say, “Okay now what?” I got super frustrated and decided to walk down to find his car.
And there was David Beckham- walking- with a backpack. No car. I gave a blank stare and blinked rapidly. Where’s your car? I got dropped off at the gate. Why, Are you drunk? No. Do you have a DUI? No. Why do you have a backpack? Because I just got off work.
Guys, I should have ran, he would have never found me. But I’m an idiot. Blame it on the night- don’t blame it on me. In the light of my foyer (yes, I brought the stray home), I could see he looked nothing like David Beckham. NOTHING. He had a droopy eye and really bad skin. The updated US Passports holograms covered these very important details. UGH. “So like I said, I just got off work. Can I take a quick shower?“ Ummm I’m sorry are you a homeless person who trolls on Bumble for places to crash? No. The writing was on the wall: the backpack, the lack of transportation, the lack of Drivers License. Why oh why didn’t I kick him out? I was stunned, I just said, Sure. I will count this as my charity for the month.
After he defiled my shower, he came into my room (no concept of personal space) and said, “I can tell you’re the girl I’m going to marry, Ella.” Whoa, whoa, psycho clinger is my role- can’t play a player, dude. He pulled me in for a kiss- it was awful. So awful. I don’t remember much, except the smell of his moppy hair (did he not see the Argan Oil shampoo?) and pushing him off of me.
Okay, hobo I really think it’s time you should go now. This isn’t not the adventure I wanted. You got your shower, now make like titties and bounce. But Ella, I wanted to have one dance (he pulled out his cell phone and played Mazzy Star’s Fade into You I’m a sucker for that song guys). Fine, just one. It was kinda romantic, minus the smell of his hair. Wet dog. It was now 3am. Yawwwwwn, well I have work in the morning. You should go. Ella, how am I gonna get a ride at this hour? OMG. This man was so destitute what was I supposed to do? I called him hobo to his face and it wasn’t enough. So I let him sleep in my bed. I sat on the couch in the living room (I obvi was not gonna share a bed with that smell? Ew. No). I discovered the Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt on Netflix (there’s one positive in this story).
At 6am, I woke him up and said, You napped. You need to go, seriously. Knowing he was spoiling my fresh linen was too much to bear anymore. Sidenote: I literally had to wash my linens THREE EFFING TIMES to get his stench out. Swear. He texted me the next afternoon asking me to dinner (probably wanted to redeem my Del Taco offer). I simply texted back, David, I see many red flags with you. My chakras aren’t aligning with yours. Just trying to scare the stray away.
You can read his reply below. Eye roll. And that was the end of David Beckham. Beware of Poor Boys, they’re all around us. The ones who talk your ear off at a bar, but don’t buy a drink. The ones who Instagram a photo of themselves at the beach on a Friday afternoon. Or the one who wants to meet during Happy Hour. Stay far away.