Dibbs: The Date

Sorry, Y'all. I didn't realize I was leaving you in suspense.

I can't make fun of him that much now that I've seen him. I fear there may really be something amiss.

I'll give you one example. He didn't know how to use his debit card to pay for dinner. The bill came. He put his debit card in the holder like a normal person would, and then the waitress came. He told the waitress he didn't have a pen. (BTW, every time I tell this story, people think I mean PIN number because I don't sound like a Yankee, and it gets on my nerves. But I digress.) The waitress looked puzzled and gave him a pen. He looked at the bill with a befuddled expression and began to write on it. He said to the waitress, "I don't know where to write." She rolled her eyes and took the bill. Y'all, it was the first bill. Not the one you sign. I am not exaggerating when I say that I think he grew up in a compound outside Oklahoma City.

The date went on, and he is very nice, as I knew he was. I would know this, as he had been calling every damn night for a week-and-a-half. He texted two more times, and when I didn't answer the second text, he stopped.

There's so much more, but I just can't talk about it. Bless his heart.