Submitted by David:

Pauline was a strange one.  During our date, I couldn't tell if she was picking fights with me or just poking fun.  Almost everything I said, she found a way to make me a bad guy:

I said, "I worked at that job for three years, and I don't miss it."

She'd reply, "Ouch.  You could be a bit nicer."

I said, "I'm estranged from my father."

She'd reply, "You probably blew something he did way out of proportion."

I said, "I like sports."

She'd roll her eyes and say, "Great.  You're one of those."

I wasn't sure why she stayed with me on the date, since I was obviously such a hateful, spiteful, nasty person who liked sports.  We got onto the topic of how she came into money recently and was able to take a lot of time off.

"How did you do that?" I asked her.

She answered, "I was in a car accident.  Other person's fault.  I took them for almost everything they were worth."

I asked, "Were you badly injured?"

"Not at all.  But they don't need to know that."

I was incredulous.  "So you committed insurance fraud."

She rolled her eyes and said, "Don't be so dramatic.  They crashed into me, remember?  It was their fault."

The "evil bitch" siren cut through the fogginess inside my brain.  My plan was to have a civil end to the evening.

She wanted to go to an ice cream place not far from the restaurant, and we agreed to take my car.  As I was driving over there, she must have grabbed (or tried to grab) my steering wheel three times, to try and get me to avoid "other cars," "potholes," or "pedestrians," none of which were actually there.

"Don't grab my wheel!" I finally yelled at her.

"There's that temper!  Come on!  Yell at me again!  Feels good, doesn't it?"

I turned around that moment, drove her back to her car, and kicked her out of mine.  I'm not 12 anymore, and the time for playing stupid games is past.

My guess is that she's married now.


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Was she British?

Posted in: Stories,Written by a Guy