A Sack of Potatoes: A Dating Disaster

Main Character- Magdalene

Supporting Character- Potatoes 

Good Lord are we starting out The Diaries on a strong note. Y’all gonna want to buckle up for this dating disaster. 

Let’s set the scene, shall we? Now, the only time I truly have consistent interactions with other human beings, specifically of the male persuasion, is when I go to the gym in the morning. Around 6 a.m., Monday to Friday, I roll up to this place looking like the poster child for insomniatic sleep- hair all askew, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks puffy, a resting bitch face plastered firmly in place. Not my most physically appealing time of day.

However, despite all of that, there was… A man..

 Sigh Isn’t there always. 

We’ll call this man Potatoes (why ‘Potatoes’ will become glaringly obvious to you soon). He worked behind my gym’s desk and after initially saying hi, he and I soon struck up a fairly consistent flirtationship. Even though I was rolling up to the gym looking like a six pack a day smoker, I still mustered up the energy and gusto to bat my lashes and giggle like a dumbass. Why, you ask? Well I need you to know that this man’s was FOINE. And I do mean FOINE. The good Lord took a few extra days to sculpt this one. And our brief interactions usually left me breathless. It was a heady feeling, so I rolled with it and flirted endlessly. Shamelessly. 

Cue a particularly intense bout of loneliness one morning

 Desiring contact, flirtation, and honestly anything to get my mind off of my recent breakup, I decided to finally buck up the courage to introduce myself properly to Potatoes. I approached my target, sitting at his usual spot looking beautiful as always, and casually introduce myself like the smoootthhh ass motherfucker I believed myself to be. Our chat flowed as it did, with flirtatious grins, questionable innuendos, all the like. One thing lead to another and soon  I had him right where I wanted him- beautiful ass mans was suggesting that we go out for a beer sometime. 

And I, like the victorious queen I am, agreed and we set the date- a week from that conversation. A few days after our chat, he insisted that he see me earlier than a week, so we decided to also get drinks a day later. A two for one special had been planned (A.K.A Lesson #1 of the dating world in what not to do, but more on that later). Now. I need you to know, dearest reader, that I had very high hopes when considering my romantic interactions with this man. Did I have far too many fantasies involving him, me, and a king sized bed? Hell yeah. A casual hookup, or friends with benefits situation, seemed just the thing after the loss of my ex. Ya bish was anxious to start her life out on these streets, so I dolled myself up, shaved, moisturized, donned underwear that didn’t have period stains on them, etc. (iyk, yk), and I embarked on my very first date as a newly single woman. 

We met up for drinks at a bar downtown. We grabbed our beverages of choice, sat, and started chatting. Me being me, I dove right in to the important stuff, such as “Tell me about your mommy and daddy issues” and my other favorite, “What childhood trauma have you not yet been able to let go of?” Small talk? Not the biggest fan, especially if I think I might be sucking your dick later, ya know? A girl’s gotta know what she’s getting herself into! 

 Over  the course of our conversations, I quickly got a read on the kind of man Potatoes was, or at least believed himself to be. I discovered that most of what he perceived about the world was entirely different from how I perceived the world. We disagreed on almost everything… 

Great!

Wonderful!

VICTORRYYYY!!!

You see, dearest reader, I had come to this date concerned that my treacherously emotional heart might want to develop feelings for this beautiful human being  in front of me. Feelings that would, in the grand scheme of my hoe phase, complicate things. So, learning this man’s politics and beliefs gave me enough of the ‘ick’ (see definition of ‘ick’ here - it’s a very multifaceted term, would highly recommend adding it to your lexicon) to not run the risk of falling head-over-heels infatuated.

But just because my head had gotten the ick didn’t mean my body had…. Yet. 

It was over the course of our divulgetory conversation that I made the first great blunder of my dating career. 

We were discussing what we wanted in the bedroom, as I assumed one does on a first date. And I was foolish enough to also assume honesty and openness to be the greatest imperative in such a discussion. Turns out I was sorely mistaken (Lesson #2 in the Dating World). When he asked, with a smirk on his face, what enticed me in the bedroom, I freely explained that since I am a rather dominant personality in my actual life, my preferences were to let go of control in the bedroom and submit to my partner- let them make all the decisions. “I like to be tossed around like a sack of potatoes” I remember summarizing at the end of my disclosure.

 And that, my friends, was the beginning of the end. 

You see, what I believe happened in his little boy brain at that moment was tantamount to an unleashing of sorts…. a ‘release the kraken’ moment if you will. I spent the rest of our evening together getting tossed about like……you guessed it… a sack of potatoes. (Get the nickname now?). In some respects, I at least had found proof that he’d listened to me, which I guess could be considered points in his favor. Unfortunately for me, however, his excellent hearing skills meant spending the rest of the evening being tossed and yanked about until I was convinced I’d developed shaken baby syndrome or something.

And so the date progressed. We left our first spot to go to a little arcade bar down the street. And as we walked, the downward spiral into madness commenced. One moment I’d was walking next to him down the street, and the next he’d yank me to him. My arm, my wrist, my waist, anything to grab and pull. Walk. Yank. Walk. Yank. Ya girl was getting fucking whiplash. 

When we reached the street corner across from an arcade bar, I stopped dead in my tracks to look at a truly stunning mural beside us (and to gather my whits about me once more). Completely enraptured, I stood for long seconds, looking at the art before me. Suddenly, a rough hand clamped around the back of my neck and- you guessed it- YANKED me around to clash with Potatoes man’s face in what I supposed was meant to be a brief and passionate kiss. Teeth banged against teeth. New, unfamiliar lips with a new, unfamiliar face pressed into mine. And then, just as suddenly as we kissed, I was tossed away from him by the scruff of my neck. Jesus. I was starting to get the ick.  

While I was thrilled to have finally kissed someone who wasn’t my ex, my mind almost immediately went into panic mode. Was I ready to kiss and physically interact with someone else after so long with only one person? Why did it feel so weird to kiss another person? What if he had diseases??  (Que downward spiral of doom that led me to conclude that I was about to die of syphilis). Aaallllll the things were flying through my mind as we crossed the street to the next bar. 

We grabbed drinks and settled ourselves in front of an open TV. Potatoes excitedly went to retrieve a vintage Mario Kart game cartridge from the bar and we settled into our chairs to play. Occasionally touches were exchanged, overtly sexual words were said, yada yada yada. I was determined to get this train back on track dammit. 

After a few rounds of Mario Kart, we wrapped up and started to look for other arcade games to play. He immediately found a football game and became totally immersed. Apparently he had been a football player for most of his school years and had a hankering to relive the good ole’ days on our date. I, on the other hand, hd no such desire. So I wandered over to the bar to strike up a conversation with the lesbian bartender. 

AND GUESS WHAT?? 

WE FLIRTED! I wasn’t really attracted to her, but we still flirted. This is significant because I have never overtly flirted with any woman ever, so it was a really empowering moment for me. And I KNEW we were flirting, which was honestly half the battle. I am convinved women can often be the gayest behaving creatures on the planet. Need someone to check that lump in your boob? I’ll squeeze it. Need a hand putting a tampon in for the very first time? Sis, I’ll be right there, part those labia for me. So its a legitimate challenge to try and navigate flirting with women atm. 

All the while my date has not noticed that I’m not as in raptures about his lil’ football game as he is. I’ve basically left the poor guy all alone. As I chat and flirt, I suddenly hear him holler “SCOOORRRRRRREE!!!!!!” I turn to see what’s sent this man into a tizzy. I watch as he races over, hugs me tightly, and kisses me. On the lips. Again. Then he runs back and picks up the game. 

A few minutes later, the process repeats itself. I’m talking. He yells his victory. He runs over, grabs me from behind, kisses my neck, and returns to the game.  

A few more minutes go by. “SCOOOOREEEE!!!!” 

And on and on. 

At this point I am overstimulated as fuck and ready to leave. The ick has officially been gotten and I’m ready to end this evening. There’s no helping it. No matter how FOINE this mans may be, I just cannot be on this date with him a moment longer.  I wrap up my conversation with the bartender, turning away to suggest to Potatoes we head out, when he lets out his loudest victory call yet. 

“IIIIIII WIIIINNNNNNNN!!!!!” he screams to the heavens, first pumping in the air. 

I, and everyone else in this blessed bar, turn to stare at this man as he is caught in the throws of victory. 

Then he turns and locks eyes with me. 

He crouches down a little, arms out before him. A shit eating grin spread wide over his face.

And he runs towards me.  

Shit. 

Now, I need to preface this next section by stating that I am not a small woman by any stretch of the imagination. I am around 6 ft tall, over 180 pounds. I’m a thick bish. And yet something about me seems to dare men to attempt to pick me up. Seriously, I’ve had it happen MULTIPLE times in my adult life. It's crazy. 

Potatoes proceeded to add to that number. 

He races at my thighs from across the bar as quickly as he can. I watch in horrified slow motion as he bends lower, collides with my legs, wraps his arms firmly around them, and lifts me IN TO THE AIR.  

One moment I am vertical. 

The next, I am horizontal. 

My feet are swept out from under me, ass cheeks pointed resolutely in the air as this mans tosses me over his shoulder like a sack of fucking potatoes in the middle of this crowded bar. 

Well I’ll be damned. 

I am shocked. 

I am speechless. 

I am about 6 feet higher off the ground than I should be. 

Like the legendary Rocky Balboa himself, this man turns to the front door, his woman slung firmly over his right shoulder, and pumps his left arm into the air in triumph, rushing out the way we came in and still crowing his victory to the world. 

As he makes his way to the door, I am frozen in astonishment. My flabbers were truly gasted.  My booty is in the air and my head is damn near bouncing against his butt. I weakly lift up my head, locking eyes with the bartender behind us whose eyes are both wide with shock, and no small amount of relief in what could clearly be a ‘thank God I don’t like men’ moment.  

She mouths “Are you okay???” to me as I bounce against Potatoes, and all I can do is stare with a comical look of surprise on my face. Not a cohesive thought can be found in my mind. Am I okay? Am I not? Is my ass supposed to be pointed to the sky right now? 

Before I can gather my wits, we are out the front door and I am carried into an ever-growing mass of people waiting to get into the bar. As the cool rush of summer air and abrupt shift in atmosphere hit my befuddled senses, I finally come out of my stupor and start to wriggle and struggle in his grasp, banging on his own booty cheeks and demanding to be set vertically. 

He complies, sliding me down the front of his body in what should have been a sexy, romantic move but is more like an awkward attempt not to drop me. He grins wide as my feet settle to the concrete and I know, I just KNOW, dearest reader, that this man thinks I am his for the taking. I just know that he believes that because he has followed my clear instructions, I will start begging, no, pleading, with him to whisk me away for a thorough ravishmnent.

God what a terrifying thought. 

But we still have a ten minute walk back to my car through some not–so-public parts of town and I just know he will try to kiss me or chuck me around again. (Please note, I never felt any actual danger from this man. Just overstimulated and over-touched). So as we slipped through the back of the crowd and walked in the direction of my car, I pulled out the only defense mechanism I could think of at the time to keep him from pulling any more stunts. 

I talk. 

I talk about everything. Ever. Single. ‘Woke’ liberal, progressive, feminist thing I can think of. 

I talk about abortion access, the state of mental health in LGBTQIA communities, men’s high suicide rates, oppression, anxiety, pronouns, taxing the rich. Literally anything I can think of to kill this man’s boner as quickly as humanly possible. And it honestly seems to work. The longer we walk, the more his grin fades, and he doesn’t make a move to touch me. I get back to my car entirely unmolested (and now fairly riled up about women’s rights). 

Resolved to be as honest and upfront with him as possible, I turn and thank him for an interesting evening but say that I don’t want to go on that second date we had planned. 

He starts to get defensive. “What do you mean, another date? This wasn’t a date to begin with.”

Motherfucker. That was a date. You kissed me for goodness sake. 

I give him the look that response deserved, reiterated my desire, and wished him a goodnight before getting into my car and leaving. 

I knew I’d still be seeing him when I came to the gym each day, so I resolved to hike up my big girl panties and say hi to him the next time I saw him, behaving with maturity and grace so as not to further exacerbate what would already be an awkward situation (because I have no expectation that this man’s will also make any effort to do so on his own lol).

Well. 

When I walked into the gym the next morning, I found that he wasn’t there. I assumed he just wasn’t working that day, so I started my workout, resolved to say hi whenever I next saw him. But that is when a gym girlfriend of mine came up to me, simply bubbling with excitement: 

“Did you hear what happened to Potatoes (not his real name but you get it)???” 

“No?” I responded, confused by her excited tone. 

“He came in this morning and just quit!!!!” 

…..

 I’m sorry, he… what???!?!?!?!

Y’all. This man, I shit you not, resigned from his whole ass job a day after our date!!!

 I’m not saying it was because of the date. He very well could have already been planning to quit. BUUUTTT the timing is quite suspicious. 

So I decided to believe that he did quit because of our disastrous date and y’all, my confidence shot through the damn room. This whole ass man quit because of meeee???? HA. What a flex. I am untouchable now. No one can come close to this ego. I got these mens PRESSED about me. Plus the Universe decided to have mercy on me and get rid of him before I had to endure the awkwardness of seeing each other. 

Idk if getting tossed over your date’s shoulder is a totally normal experience or not out here on these streets, but considering that was my very first experience as a newly single woman, I have a feeling my future dating life is going to be truly fascinating. Love that for me lol.

Thanks for following along!

With Love,

Magdalene