Speed Dat-ed.

So this past Friday a gal pal and I decided to attend a local speed dating event.  We figured it would be a great way to put ourselves out there and meet some new gents.  Good idea, right?


Yeah, worst idea ever.

Most speed dating events are organized so that you have a short 'date' and then at the sound of a bell, you move onto the next dude.  Unfortunately, we took the cheap way out and selected the more economical "single mingle" option, which basically involves packing a bunch of single folks into a bar, handing them a free drink, and asking them to meet one another.  Essentially, this becomes just like any other Friday night, except with name tags and a little more desperation.

Fifteen minutes in, I was cornered by a 50-year-old Peruvian bank teller asking me if I enjoyed foreign films and très leches. Did I mention he also had a lisp?  Sure there were a few decent guys in the crowd, but there was no way to get out from underneath Dario's grasp without being rude, or kneeing him in the balls and running for my life.

I left the event feeling awful.  I had gone for kicks--to mix up my usual Friday night routine, but what I didn't realize was that for most of the singles in the room, this wasn't something they were doing for fun.  This was a last resort.  They weren't just looking for a cute girl's number and a casual drink, they were looking for a life partner who was equally willing to speed up the dating process.  They were looking to cut to the chase--make up for the years lost in their divorce, ignore their social shortcomings, find their soul mate.

After evading Dario's sixteenth request for my contact information and partaking in a short pity party, I started to see the experience in a different light.  In a way, it made me thankful for my situation.  My situation being that, unlike Dario, I didn't need to be there.

I won't be going back to another singles event anytime soon, simply because I'm not ready to give up my high standards.  Now if there's a single and mingle event with a bunch of Ashton Kutcher look-alikes ready to wisk me off to foreign lands and feed me tres leches off their rock hard abs while they reinact scenes from my favorite romance films, then perhaps I'll sign up.  But for now, I'm content being young, single, and free.