My parents don't ever get involved in my personal life, except for this one time when they did. They've always wanted me to meet "a nice Russian boy" and their friends happened to have a son who seemed like the perfect candidate for everlasting love. Even though I was (and still am) completely against "arranged marriage" mentality, I saw his photo and he looked quite handsome (very superficial of me, I know). So I was like, "Fine, let's do it." Plus, the thought of my parents approving of my other half was very comforting. I actually love making my folks happy, so yeah, I was down to give it a try.
Let's give my prince charming a super Russian name - Boris. So he calls me the next day and, turns out, Boris has the goofiest voice on the planet. It does not match the photo at all. I think to myself, "Whatever, maybe he's nervous or something, it's all good." We agree to meet that same week for dinner.
My whole family is excited, mom is looking for wedding destinations with the other mom, dad is wondering if Boris likes scotch and cigars. They're on a roll.
"The" night rolls around. Boris comes to pick me up, steps out of his car, opens the door for me, very gentlemanly. He sits down, says "Hi, how are you?" I go, "Great and you?" He then explains how he's a bit nervous and needs a drink. I can totally relate to his problem, so we both agree how alcohol is, in fact, the answer (it's a joke, people, relax). His voice sounds fine too, so that problem is ruled out, I'm happy as fuck.
We get to the restaurant, it was actually at 40 Westt (one of my favourite spots) in the West Island, because I'm a west island gal. We get seated at our table and Boris grabs the wine list right away. He suggests we go straight to strong liquor (boy, he must be REALLY nervous) and I agree, because I'm tough like that, haha! He gets himself a vodka on the rocks, and I get a vodka-soda. I forget what we ordered next, it was quite a long time ago, but I remember one thing: there were a lot of drinks.
As the night progresses, Boris starts to get really
drunk comfortable and that's when shit gets weird. He comes to sit next to me, grabs my hand and starts to kiss it in a very erotic manner. Like, it wasn't a little peck, it was a full blown make-out session with my hand in the middle of the restaurant. I tried to pull away, but he just wouldn't let go. Boris turned into Gollum from The Lord of The Rings: "My precious!!!" He then confessed how he had a hand fetish and how my hands were perfect. Alrighty then.
Boris doesn't stop there. All of a sudden, he starts to caress my leg under the table and what not. Shit is getting really uncomfortable. So I tell him that it's getting late and we need to get going. His facial expression instantly changes, and he says, "You mean YOU need to get going. Then leave! Bye!" Fucking Boris. I'm a very proud person and would never allow myself to beg him to bring me home or do anything for me for that matter, so I just get up and leave.
The restaurant is pretty far from my house and I can't just grab a cab off the street, because it's West Island, a.k.a. no-taxi land. I asked the hostess to call me a cab and she said it would be a 40 minute wait. Fucking great. I wasn't going to stick around at the restaurant, Boris was right there and I hated him at this point. I didn't want to call my parents to come save me either, because I knew it would make them really upset.
My phone dies as I step outside the restaurant - the cherry on the cake. So I decide to walk home, yolo. And it's a long ass walk, people. Like a good 1.5 hour of walking in the middle of fucking nowhere in high heels and a mini dress. Best night ever basically.
Somehow I managed to get home alive. The next morning, my parents wake me up, all excited, asking me how my date went. I didn't go into details and just said, "Not so great." Boris then bombarded me with text messages asking me to forgive him, that he got really drunk, that he was sorry things turned out this way and that I needed to give him another chance. I was so turned off already - there was no way in hell I would give this "romance" another shot. I didn't want anything to do with him and his fucking hand fetish. I never told my parents what happened that night, so now they know, haha!
Boris and his family moved back to Russia a few years after our incident. I don't think he'll ever get to read this post. It would be funny if he does though. This will forever be engraved in my memory as the worst (and funniest) date of my life.