“Hi. There is a movie showing tonight in your town that is important to me, as I am a film noir fan and rarely get to see it on the big screen. There is an 8:15pm show tonight only. Please be my guest!”
That was the first message I received from The Libertarian through my dating website. He also provided his name, phone number, and links to the theater’s website, as well as a trailer for the film. I was simultaneously taken aback and impressed. He hadn’t sent me so much as a “Hello,” or “How are you doing?” or even the implausible, “I was looking at your profile and think we are soulmates!” What kind of guy just messages a stranger and invites them out? On the other hand, he seemed to be confident and assertive, which I like in a man – plus, he was very easy on the eyes.
I clicked on the YouTube link he provided for the movie trailer – fully expecting to be taken to a porn site…or worse – but it really was a trailer to the movie. “Private Property” is a black and white film made in 1960 – and as one critic said, it is a “grim exposé of gender roles and sexual psychopathy.” Basically, the characters are creepy drifters who plan to rape a rich and unhappy housewife who unwittingly crossed their path. I think we can agree that it’s a strange choice for a date movie – especially a first date movie. Judge for yourself.
I waited until after the movie had started, and then I messaged The Libertarian, telling him that I appreciated his invitation, but that I was late getting his message and perhaps we could meet another time. He let me know that he actually lived in a town about an hour north of me and came down to the big metropolis about once a week – currently he had a class on Saturdays and he also had a Meetup on Wednesday nights.
My ears perked up at this – well, not literally – that would be weird…and also my ears are kind of soft and poke out a little, kind of like Alfred E Newman of Mad Magazine.
But I am currently a member of a hiking Meetup – I wondered if perhaps he had a similar hobby…so I asked him. He provided the link (he really liked links) and I clicked on it and found…The Libertarian/Anarcho group. To be honest, I had never heard of “Anarcho” and I had to Google it.
Here’s your vocabulary lesson of the day: Anarcho-capitalism is a libertarian and individualist anarchist political philosophy that advocates the elimination of the state in favor of individual sovereignty in a free market.
We’ll go into more detail later on this.
I checked the bios of the organizers and other members and found that a lot of them were living off the grid as much as possible. One identified himself as “an enemy of the state.” Another said she was an “abolitionist” – which most of us probably think applies to slavery, but not so much in this case. Now, you have to know that I like the idea of self-reliance as much as the next person. I don’t want Big Brother in my business any more than he has to be. I wish there was a little more wisdom in government spending and a little less meddling in private affairs. If you know me at all, you know I have some food storage – just in case. However, these people scared me a little.
I responded in a non-committal fashion: “Looks interesting.”
Of course, I lied. In reality, anything political, especially extremist views, makes my eyes roll back in my head, my brain shut down, and gives me an urge to either punch people in the face or run away as quickly as I can. But the Libertarian was cute and actually real (I could see that he was really a member of this particular Meetup) and I hadn’t been on a date in a while.
The Libertarian immediately invited me to attend as his guest “or on your own. However, I’d prefer the former, myself.”
I quickly let him know that my Wednesday evenings were booked up for the next month or two – maybe forever. Instead of your crazy Meetup, I suggested, perhaps we can meet for a drink or coffee like normal people. Of course I didn’t phrase it like that – I was all polite and shit – because I’m a lady of refinement. The Libertarian asked me to choose a date and time and I let him know I was free that weekend. No time like the present to suss out a dude to see if he is certifiably insane or just a little quirky. He agreed and when I told him to just let me know the time and place and I would be there, he responded:
“Ooo! Let’s take a tango dance class at noon, my treat. Meet me at the classroom (he helpfully provided another link). It’s a beginner-level class. Do you have some heels that strap on securely? After class I’ll take you to lunch in the area – you can pick the spot, if you’d like. Whatcha’ think?”
The Libertarian’s boldness intrigued me. So I retorted, “Your boldness intrigues me! Yes, I’m in for a tango class! I love dancing, but haven’t done much for years (and never the tango). But I’ve watched “So You Think You Can Dance” a time or two – so I’m sure I’ll be an expert in no time.”
Then I started to panic a little. First of all – I do NOT own strappy heels. I barely own heels at all. I’ve got a pair of stilettos – because every girl needs some “slut shoes” (just in case I ever have sex again), but I can barely walk in those suckers. I tend to weave and stumble like a sloppy drunk after he has spent his last $50 in a seedy bar. I’m sure the lucky guy I wear those shoes for will find me very, very sexy – especially if I manage not to break my ankle when I take the unavoidable fall. Also, if I was supposed to wear strappy heels – then didn’t I need a dress? I rarely wear dresses — for a myriad of reasons: 1) pantyhose tend to chafe my inner thighs and nothing is as attractive as me trying to walk with my thighs apart so that they don’t rub together. Add some high heels into that mix and you are just begging for disaster. 2) Yes, I could go bare-legged – but the last time my legs saw the sun was sometime back in the 70’s. The whiteness is nearly blinding – and the spider veins I have going on are rather frightening for the unprepared. And finally, 3) I have been cursed with the “Shaw Cankles.” You’ve heard of cankles before, right? Instead of a dainty ankle that looks great in strappy heels, your calf and ankle meld together, leaving you with something that looks like an elephant’s leg. My sisters and I blame it all on my mother – who probably blames it on her mother – and so on, and so on.
So, it seemed that a shopping trip was in order – but being a gal with a frugal nature, I didn’t want to spend a bunch of money on things I probably wouldn’t ever wear again – especially when I didn’t even know the guy. I headed for the Goodwill, where I found a pair of nice looking shoes with a larger than normal, stable heel – still high, but not overly so. They were relatively comfortable, but they lacked the “straps” The Libertarian had suggested – but for $5.99, I’d just have to live with that. Next I stopped at Kohl’s. Can we just agree that there is nothing quite as satisfying as a Kohl’s clearance sale? I ended up with not one – but THREE dresses – each less than $7.00. I’m not sure where I’m going to wear these dresses to (for all of the reasons listed above) – but they now hang in my closet, probably holding whispered conversations about how I totally fail at the girly-girl factor.
On the big day, I showered, shampooed and blow-dried. I applied makeup and about twenty layers of deodorant. I then dressed in my new/used finery and headed for the car – narrowly escaping a fall down the stairs in the process. I tucked a pair of socks into my purse – because I planned to ditch the shoes and nylons as soon as the date was over – my feet were already starting to hurt.
When I got to the location (an art gallery – an interesting place for tango lessons), The Libertarian was waiting for me, standing next to his red convertible, dressed in a jacket and tie. I have to say – I like a man who dresses for the occasion. We greeted each other and walked into the gallery, only to find that there was no dance class. The owner explained that they had offered a few dance classes months ago – but that it had just been a favor to a friend who needed a place to teach. I could tell that The Libertarian was rather embarrassed that he had not called first to check it out – but in his defense, it had been on the website (I did click the link he gave me). I was secretly relieved and suggested that we just have some lunch and conversation, but The Libertarian was not to be swayed. He asked the owner if she knew where her friend was teaching now? Well, yes – yes she did. It was just down the street and around the corner – and the class was just starting now.
Stay tuned, as Paul Harvey used to say, for “the rest of the story.”