Mustache Guy – Part 3


A few seconds later my phone rings. Well, I did tell him to call me….

“Hello?” I answer.

“Hey, lady!” he starts laughing. He definitely has a mustache and just thinking about it gives me the creeps.

So Mustache Guy starts talking. At first he’s very polite; he asks me a couple of questions about myself, which is kinda cool. But I soon realize that Mustache Guy is not afraid to talk. And talk and talk. He’s rambling and he’s boring, but maybe he’s just nervous, so I’ll cut him some slack.

When he finally stops long enough to take a breath, I interrupt with “Do you like animals?”

“Oh yeah. I love elk and duck,” he says. “I don’t really like venison, though.”

Elk and duck? I knew it. Stupid mustache, rambling, dorky man. I’m talking about animals that you love and snuggle and don’t murder. Within just a matter of seconds, he says the two words that turn me off faster than any others: avid hunter.

Actually the two words that would turn me off faster than any others would probably be “child molester,” but who’s gonna to tell you that during the first phone call?

“I must admit,” I say. “I’m not a big fan of hunting. I mean, if people want to hunt, that’s fine, it’s their business. But I don’t think I could ever be with a hunter.”

“Why not?” he asks

“Because I love animals.”

“I say that I’m a hunter, but it’s really just an excuse to get out on my snowshoes and enjoy the mountains in the winter,” he backpedals.

Then why don’t you just get out on your snowshoes and enjoy the mountains in the winter? Why the mass shooting?

I’ve now been listening to him ramble for 45 minutes, and I’m done. “Well, it’s been nice talking to you, but I’ve got to go,” I say during one of his “breath breaks.”

“I’ve loved talking to you too,” he says.

Did I say “loved?” I don’t think I said, “loved.”

“Could I take you to dinner sometime?” he says.

Abso-fuckin’-lutely not!

Open mind, Beatrice.

Damn that open minded thing! Why did I ever agree to that?

“What about Sunday morning coffee?” I ask. Coffee is easy. Coffee gets me out of a boring, 2-hour dinner. Coffee is independent, because I can leave whenever I want – I don’t have to be polite and wait around for the check to arrive. And Sunday morning coffee is especially important, because it tells me if he’s active Mormon or not.

“That works,” he says. Well, at least he’s not active Mormon. He definitely gets a point for that one. He has so many points already working against him, though: mustache, avid hunter, text dork. The only way he could redeem himself at this point is if he shows up for coffee and he actually IS Tom Selleck.

We arrange to meet at the Beans and Brews on 5th East at 11:00 a.m. on Sunday morning.

Why am I doing this? I don’t want to meet this guy.

I am going to meet him, though, because I know that if I call that Kris guy at the stupid matchmaking place in protest, he’ll remind me that when I joined the waste-of-money matchmaking service, I made a commitment to meet everyone they match me up with.

Commitments are the worst.

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