At our first dinner he kissed my shoulder and told me he was not usually so forward and so happy. He was tall, older, 14 years older, not handsome but striking, sophisticated, brilliant, successful, philanthropic and clearly insanely crazy about me. The next day he was off on a two week private jet tour of Europe. He called every day surprised by his infatuation. As soon as he returned from his vaca the relationship flew into hyperspeed. He wanted me to move clothes in to his house, he set aside space in his supersized walk in closet. He set up my toothbrush next to his and told me his downstairs office was now my downstairs office. We coupled on dinner dates, fund raisers, opera’s and birthday parties. He introduced me to everyone in his family with relish and cut out my picture from the magazine and pasted it into his wallet. Crazy right! On week four I awoke from my slumber opened the window to the castle bedroom took in a deep breath of  LA air and proclaimed the land to be mine. I’d met my Prince Charming. fait a compli

We planned a weekend getaway to the faraway land of Palm Springs, it’s important to spend time away together to solidify the strength of the bond he told me. That is when the whole fairytale unraveled. My eldest daughter called me from her father’s house. They were having an ugly fight over her cell phone. It took me nearly 20 minutes to calm the hysterical child. But I did talk her down. The prince seemed to be patient with the process, afterall he’d had 5 children of his own, he could certainly understand the frailties of the situation. But later that evening as we walked toward the restaurant for dinner I could tell  that the temperature of the relationship had run icy cold. On the drive back to the hotel my prince told me that he was really too old for me. He had already raised his children and didn’t want to raise another set of kids. I was aghast. The first night he picked me up at my house he met my two children. They weren’t a surprise. My whole beautiful future was shattered in an instant. And now with the knowledge that he was not going to accept me with my daughters, I  had to spend the rest of the night with him. Then I was forced to endure a two hour ride home together the following AM.  It was torturous and I behaved like a maniacal baby alternating fits of tears, whoa is me diatribes and feeling completely unloved and then ashamed for crying in front of him. It took me a long time to recover from the loss of my Prince.

Following our interlude in New Orleans, he’d call every week or so. Our communications were strictly phone driven, but he made a valiant effort to keep in touch. I was impressed. Several months after our first meeting he was organizing a trip with the team to the west coast. He suggested we get together. Sounds good. We were talking on the phone finalizing details, when he launched into a story about his friend. He was describing a situation when he said, and I quote  “well that’s worser”…I repeated the phrase, thinking it was a joke or optimistically I had misheard. “that’s worser” I repeated. “Yeah, that would be worser” he repeated. I couldn’t believe my ears.  This guy actually works for the NBA, has multiple college degrees! Doesn’t proper use of the English count anymore? Can we all get six figure jobs and be illiterate? Maybe he’s good enough for the NBA, but it was over for me.

First of all, never on a first date. Second of all, who could possibly be a hater of the finest thing in life.

Nope, what I am talking about is the Offspring Hater.

I was absolutely head over heels in love with this guy. In fact, I had never actually felt the feeling of falling in love, until I spent time with the O Hater. He was a Wharton educated investment banker, lived in a sweet little house at the beach with the cutest dog in the world. To me, he was smart, sexy, accomplished, fit and though his career was slightly derailed at the moment we connected it didn’t matter to me. I was willing to stand by his side, no matter what, because I’m smart enough to know the green stuff comes and goes but what he “HAD” was forever stuff.

One of my favorite memories was our third date. He “took” me for a drink on his rooftop. When I say rooftop, I literally mean we sat on top of the tar tiles on his rooftop. We snuggled up on beach chairs, sipped martini’s and watched the sunset. Not a flashy date but extraordinarily romantic.  Like I said, he was a bit low on cash flow but I didn’t care because I believed in him. And it was these kind of sweet gestures that made me fall in love with him.

About three months into our relationship we attended a party with my teens in tow. My eldest daughter was about 14 years old at the time. She has always had a tendency to be protective of me, which manifests as a cool stand offish demeanor toward anyone I date. This guy was no exception. He got the full on iceberg varietal treatment at the party. He managed to handle the situation with aplomb and let the bad attitude roll. Later that evening we discussed it like two adults and agreed that over time her freeze would thaw. Maybe she would never love him, but she would learn to like him or at least be tolerant of her mother’s friends. It was cool.

BUT….three weeks later when we were out at a pub having a real chat about family, friends and US. He ignited the hater bomb. “Can I be honest with you”, he said. “Your daughter is a Bitch”.  Holy Crap. He did not just say that! I love him. I love my daughter. This is bad. This is wrong. THIS IS A DISASTER.

Well, guess what…I love my daughter(s).

Hands down. Without question. Every time. Offspring Overrule. Bye bye O Hater.

Eww! REALLY! That is so NOT ok on the list of first date do’s.