What's the Story Behind the Ice Cream Guy?

Story Submitted by Lydia:

Edward, a 30-year-old, asked me to meet him at his house for our first date.  We had met at a party where we had both been a bit tipsy, and he had kissed me goodnight.  He seemed like a lot of fun, and possibly a good friend, if nothing else.

When I arrived at his place, he opened the door wearing only a towel.  He said, "Hold on a minute," and disappeared into the house.  I waited on the front steps, and when he returned, he said, "You can come in."  He was still in his towel, but held up two shirts and asked me, "Which is better?"  These shirts looked like something a cabana boy would wear: bright, floral, and strange choices for a date.  I picked the one that wasn't as loud as the other, and he went to change.

When he returned, he was wearing the shirt I hadn't picked, and asked me, "Ready to go?"

We had agreed beforehand to visit an independent coffee place near the local college, but he took me to a bar instead.  The male bartender, with whom he was on a first-name basis, pointed to him and said, "The usual for you, and what for tonight's companion?"

Edward turned to me and said, "Nyaaahh," in a loud, honking voice.  I ordered a midori sour.

The bartender took our orders, and Edward asked me, "Nyaaaaah?"

I didn't want to be a stick in the mud, but it was a strange way to run a date.  I asked him, "Did you have a good day?"

He said, "Do you think that if I drink a mouthful of Coke and shake my head, my mouth will explode?"

Before I could answer, he grabbed the tap from behind the bar and shot a jet of Coke directly into his mouth.  No one else seemed to notice or care.  He replaced the tap, shook his head, then stared at me and busted out laughing, spewing Coke all over his pants and the floor.

I forced a smile and asked him again if he had a good day.  He said, "It's good now that I'm here with you.  You know what would make it better, though?"

"What?"

He hopped off of the bar chair and beckoned for me to follow him.  I glanced at the bartender, busy making us drinks, but I followed Edward out and around the corner to a convenience store.  He bought a pint of ice cream and a bag of corn nuts.  We stepped outside, he opened both, and poured the corn nuts into the ice cream and ate it with relish.  He offered me some, but I politely declined.

I asked him, "What did you want to do for dinner?"

He looked at the ice cream and corn nuts as if we were surrounded by a seven-course meal at an exclusive restaurant.  I said, "That's not dinner."

He replied, "It is for me.  Makes kissing taste great."

I shuddered, then said, "I might want something a bit more sit-down.  If that's okay."

He inhaled a large gob of ice cream and said, "Go for it.  I'll meet you right back here."  He sat down on a bench and scarfed down his "dinner."

I left him there and went home.  Never heard from him again.  He might still be waiting there, the lonely ice cream man of Sycamore Avenue.