Horror Date: Just because I’m not frum doesn’t mean I’m a whore

awkward-dateSent to me via email by girl who wishes to remain anonymous.

Horror Date – What is it with Frum guys thinking less observant girls are whores?

So this past Saturday I decide go out on a date with a guy I met on frumster in April. I am expecting a nice time with a nice modern orthodox guy. Being the non-frummy chick that I am, I’m used to dealing with reform party-boys and nervous whimps. He arrives at my hotel and we started walking around Center city Philadelphia at 6:30 and do the whole awkward walking and talking bit. His profile says that he is a 35-year-old non smoker (I’m 22, but I usually go for older guys). As soon as we start walking, “Do you mind if I smoke?” Heh…No, dickwad, not at all.

So we walk and he obnoxiously puffs away, not noticing that he’s blowing it in my direction. He’s too busy telling me how he makes lots of money helping his family run their business. He’s wearing a blue button shirt with the top three unbuttoned so he has a patch of chest hair showing, and jeans.

As we’re walking, he begins asking me about my past relationships and what I’m looking for in a guy. I’ve already decided by this point that I won’t see him again, so I thought I’d have some fun. “I want a frum guy who’ll let me pretend to be all super religious around his family and then let me watch movies on shabbat”. He chuckles lightly, pauses awkwardly and then explains how he’s very modern and was raised with traditional values but was able to find his Jewish identity from growing up in New York.

He then asks me if I’m a virgin. What the f—?! Who has the audacity to ask someone that on a damn shul date?!

I tell him that’s none of his business and he chuckles and says “Ehhhh why don’t you lighten up? I was just kidding!” and tells me to relax. I smile and nod while he talks about himself, his career, his family, his sephardic background. I tell him about my family, and each thing I talk about he turns around and relates back to himself:

“Oh, your parents are divorced? Mine SHOULD have been divorced but my grandmother wouldn’t let them. I remember the fights….”

“Oh, you have 4 brothers? I have 5! And a sister!” He already told me this – oh, and his sister married a rabbi apparently. He continues with some more of the “my horse is bigger than yours” game every time I mention something else about my family. Even my down-syndrome aunt ain’t got shit on his whacked bubbie.

We get there, listen to a lecture and I’m totally digging this whole sitting separately thing. Why? Because mr. bend at the knees-kippa falling off his head over here felt it necessary to shuffle me in the front door with his hand planted firmly on the small of my back and pushing. I very quietly asked him not to touch me:

“Whaaaat? What’s your problem? I’m just trying to help you in! Relax!” Again with the “relax” shit. I’ll relax your jaw with my foot here in a minute.

We pray some more, I listen, and it’s over. I pray for patience and to not catch an assault charge. Good times.

When I come out the side door, and go to do the Netilat yadayim La’Pat, he comes to help me. I appreciate this since my mostly reform education has kept me from doing this regularly (honestly, at all). Then he yanks my hands over top of the bowl and snaps at me to hold my right hand out first and then the left. Well no shit, sherlock, I do some reading from time to time.

Standing there with him, I was able to appreciate those who are shomer negiah, and start to consider it myself.

We sit down and I silently stuff my face, ignoring everyone at the table. We finish up and pray some more and then go to leave. I come back, shake hands with the ladies I meet and wish them a good week and we make our exit. He does that hand-on-my-back thing again, I object a second time.

“Just relaaaaaaaaaax!” He literally waves me off. This wouldn’t be so unpleasant if he didn’t have an equally nasal and raspy smoker’s voice.

We make our way to some bar down the street for a few drinks (it’s way past dark by now). He stops to ask a group of young douschebags (you know the type, overly tanned with popped collars and all wearing cargo shorts) where the “hot spots” are. We end up going to some bar with cool chairs and I start to drink just so I can tolerate his stupid ass. He’s only about as tall as me, and being in the military has given me the inclination that I can probably take him if need be. I decide that my imbibing of alcohol really isn’t a safety issue. He’s the type of guy that has to drink diet coke and then lecture me on how it’s important to watch your sugar intake. I get red wine. I drink two glasses and switch to rum and REGULAR coke. I drink 3, quickly, and we decide to walk. Mind you, I’m not tiny so I’m still sober by this point. He’s had two corona lights (All I could hear in my head was “pussy alert” when he ordered) and is stumbling slightly as we walk down market street in Philly..

I tell him that I’m tired and we walk back to my hotel, hoping that he doesn’t try to come in the lobby. He comes in. We walk to the elevator. I insist that I can make it up to my room by myself. I seriously doubt I’ll have a rape threat in the Radisson.

“So…we should do this again next time you’re in town.” Awkward pause, I stare blankly. Finally, the rum is kicking in. “You look really sexy tonight.” I’m in an ankle length skirt and the frummiest sweater I could pull out of my bag. Is this asshole serious?

Then he steps forward, puts his arms around my waist and goes in for a kiss. I turn my head at the last second so he only gets to plant one on my cheek and then I say, “Well, I’m feeling energetic so I think I’ll just take the stairs. Good night!” I slowly walk into the stairwell and he stares after me dumbfounded and then begin to sprint up two stairs at a time, for some reason thinking he would chase me.

So what’s with this belief that less observant girls are loose whores? Can somebody please explain that to me?

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