Dating column: Out of nowhere, he dropped his pants on a second date

It was the second date with Max. The first one was kind of weird, but after a while in the world of online dating, you become jaded. You enjoy the little things—not all the little things across the board, but at least the following: He can talk, doesn’t drool, he gets my sense of humor (at least most of the time), he can eat with a knife and fork, and on the first date he wasn’t either a rapist, another serial killer. Almost a jackpot, you might think.

Already on the first date you could see that Max wasn’t the brightest candle on the cake. Although he seemed nice and nice and looked really good, muscular, trained, but behind the pretty facade of his face sat more the well-known monkey from Homer Simpson, with the cymbal in his hand. Well, you always have to die some death when dating, I thought. He told me about his thoughts about wanting to take part in an extremely trashy TV format as his next professional goal. But should this plan fail, he had already had another flash of inspiration, whereby the monkey with the pelvis must have been on fire sooner.

His double bottom should be a delivery service for Köttbullar. He recently bought frozen meatballs in a large furniture store and found them delicious. So now his idea was to copy the list of ingredients and get the balls out to the people. He would like to invest a six-figure sum for it. He didn’t yet know where it was supposed to come from, but he was on the verge of a breakthrough. I didn’t ask myself how he envisioned it, because the restaurant in the furniture store is also there for that and there are precisely these frozen goods for outside. He presented his plan so euphorically and I definitely didn’t want to marry him, become the next meatball queen.

Because he tried very hard to get in touch after the meeting and because of a lack of alternatives on my side, a second meeting took place. In contrast to the first date, which took place in the park, the second meeting had to take place at one of our homes. Thanks to the pandemic, which is why all restaurants and bars were closed, and the rainy German autumn and winter, there were no alternatives here either. Nobody in the Bundestag had given any thought to the fact that women would invite sex offenders and similar nonsense straight home when in doubt.

At first we sat on the couch, chatted and watched one of those dating shows on TV. When we ordered a pizza, his Swedish Köttbullar mania started all over again. Not again, I can’t grin and nod again like a fool. My friendly facial expression tempted Max to slide closer on the couch. I put up with it reluctantly because the IQ vibes really weren’t right from start to finish. A short time later, he had another meatball idea, which was to get mine. I rejected him several times, pressed his chest while lying on the couch and said, “Hey, chill, there’s definitely nothing going on here today”. I don’t know if it was because of the already roasted monkey in his head or what else was bothering him, but suddenly he got up from the couch. He grinned confidently and started fumbling with his belt. I didn’t look at him so friendly anymore and asked what he would do there? But got no answer.

Dating at home: His pants became too “tight” for him

With a bang, the belt buckle fell onto the floor and with it all the pants: “Sorry, it’s gotten so tight, I needed some space. That doesn’t bother you, does it?” he said with a smile. Um, yes, and quite powerfully. I was speechless for a moment and I can assure you that this is not often the case in life. In my head, too, a monkey was now slapping the pelvis, but this monkey in front of me would certainly never approach my pelvis. I couldn’t decide whether I found the fact that he simply took his pants off after repeated rebuffs worse or the phrase “became too tight” to be worse. Because there was nothing that could have caused a tightness, except maybe in cycling shorts.

After a few seconds, when I had locked my inner monkey back in the closet of my brain, which, by the way, is also where my ex-boyfriend lives, I got up. “Put your pants back on right now. Pack your meatballs right now and then get out of here!” I said emphatically, standing a few meters further, arms crossed, next to the door. Dejectedly and faster than the wind he was gone. Thank God I thought it could have ended very differently.

Fun fact: He texted me over and over again afterwards. He liked my assertiveness and would like to have a relationship with me. I think even the monkey in his head was dead by now. It only stopped when I blocked it. Funny, since then I could never eat Köttbullar again.

The stories in this dating column all happened in real life. I certainly haven’t experienced all of them myself, there are also contributions from colleagues, friends and acquaintances among them, but they are all worth telling.

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