As you may or may not know, S and I are working on a journalistic endeavor that involves asking women around the country about their bad dates. We’re interviewing and uncovering these truly remarkable stories—women who have been dumped on street corners to fend for themselves mid-date, others who have had men scheme elaborate birthday plans after only a first meeting.
What’s been interesting along the way, though, is discovering the way that certain people react upon learning about our project.
The fun dating-expert girls from my gym (who so graciously have invited me out and into their homes to hear their stories) unilaterally react with excitement. They’re always chomping at the bit to reveal their stories. Understandably, the details roll off their tongues faster than their clothes flew off their bodies when that one-night stand happened in the first place. As one girl described it, sharing with us is like therapy. And who wouldn't want to have to pay their shrink to listen to them?
You’d think it would horrify older women the most when they hear about our project. After all, they’re all prudes who saved themselves for marriage and thus the worst sex on the planet, right?
Oddly enough, they also respond well to our undertaking. Most older women (and I’m talking the grandmothers of today) find the project to be clever, even cute. But, sorry nana, the story of you going on a horrible date and later finding out he was the son of the Shah of Iran is just not the type of “funny” we’re looking for. This is a true story coming from a woman who, at seventy-five years of age, miraculously still has her marbles. At least on the days when she doesn’t call me to tell me not to swim in a public pool because I’ll get bladder infections.
What’s funny, though, is how people in the professional world react to this topic. I quickly discovered that posting a question on Linked In as innocuous as “I’m working on a journalism project, need women as sources to talk about bad dates” immediately prompts a barrage of hate mail. Like seriously, words almost as bad as what Tiger Woods is probably still getting daily about how disgusting his overtly sexual behavior is.
Maybe the people who react so violently are the ones who have never even BEEN on a date, never mind a bad one, because they’re too busy reading the question section of their professional networking site. (Honestly, who is it that answers those questions anyway?)
I appreciate you women out there telling me that my boss would be ashamed of me for posting such a query on a professional site. Don’t worry, he’s already ashamed of me for other things I’m sure.
Really, I actually consider your thoughts. OK, fine, maybe I don’t listen to those specific frigid middle agers whose most recent fun experience was when their kid failed to puke on the car ride to Chucky Cheese.
Now’s the time in life to mess up and make both professional and social mistakes—and if it takes a little inappropriate behavior along the way to do it right, so be it.
XOXO,
R.
