Oh, Where do I start? Have you ever dated a guy that turned into a cowboy after midnight? I didn’t know they existed in Manhattan, but they do. When I accepted to go on a date with Kyle, I committed to attending my first “Manhattan Rodeo” unbeknownst to me. Kyle seemed interesting enough, but was loosing hair rapidly (I found a few strands on my dress during the date) and was shorter than Napoleon.
He had money and was on his way to starting one of the most popular fashion magazines in New York at the time, so I thought I had nothing to loose. I was hungry for a nice dinner and was broke. The big joke amongst our friends was that if we looked skinny, it meant we were single because we could not afford to feed ourselves. All our money went to rent, clothes and the subway. If we were “healthy” looking, then we had a boyfriend, most likely an investment banker. For every woman on the street, there were three bankers. The ratio was crazy. Every guy I met back then, I asked what fund he worked for before I asked his name.
What happened on the date with Kyle is not where the story begins, it’s what happened after. He asked me up to his loft after dinner. I was living in the West Village at the time and he was only four blocks away, so why not? If we started dating, my subway and cab fare would be eliminated, which is always a plus. This guy was geographically desirable!
We went up to his place on the third floor of his building that was across from a pub that I loved to frequent. It was one of those lofts that looked like a set for Architectural Digest. Wow, I hit the freaking jack pot! He offered me a Cosmopolitan and said he had to use the men’s room and would be right back. I sat down to wait for him for what seemed to be longer than your typical restroom break. Suddenly, I heard loud steps coming from down the hall along with a very large cowboy hat staring at me.
Underneath it was his very small head that could barely keep the hat level.
“Hey Tex! What’s going on here?”
Uh, what the hell? He had taken his shirt off and was standing opposite of the kitchen island that I was now leaning against to get a better look. The island prevented me from seeing what he was wearing for pants. I assumed some wranglers as he was trying to role play and “rope” me in. He suddenly leaped from the kitchen island onto his all to pimp white leather couch. His loft was not well lit, but one does not need much light to see what was happening. Little did Kyle know that this was not my first rodeo or encounter with total douche bag. I knew it, most dates that took me to sushi for dinner always turned out to be pervs. Maybe it’s the corrosion in the sake box that leaks into the sake that makes these guys turn into perverted vamps after midnight. One will never know.