“I have something to tell you. But don’t run out of here.”

These were the words my date said to me the other night just as our food arrived at the table.

Meh. That can’t be good. I joked…”What? You’re already married?”

He says, “No. But I’m getting married in the next two years.”

And let me clarify here….it’s not to me.

And there, over my plate of food (which I still ate. If he thinks he can stop me from eating, he’s dead fuckin wrong), my whirlwind romance of one week, ended as dramatically as it started.

I had met this guy a week before, but I already knew who he was. He was the brother of an acquaintance, and I had seen a picture of him on facebook about a year ago and I just thought he was so friggin cute. I even remember telling my friends, I have to meet this guy’s brother, but how??

And then recently, I was at a bar, and there’s the guy….with his brother. Jackpot. My inner creep came out, it was on. I laid it on quite thick…

“Oh my God! YOU’RE the brother! So GREAT to finally meet you, how HANDSOME you are!”

I deserve an Academy Award, I do.

He was extremely friendly and we hit it off immediately. What were the odds? I stalked this guy’s picture and here he is, normal, and taking an interest in me. There was just one catch. He had a girlfriend. I asked, he was honest.

It’s a long termer as well. I did not take that news well, but he seemed to assure me, as does more than half of the male population here with girlfriends, it wasn’t a problem. I found solace in the fact that they’ve been carrying on a very long distance relationship for a very long time. I thought, if he hasn’t married the girl by now, maybe he’s just waiting for the right girl to come along. And here I am! I’m a horrible human being, I know. In fact, I would have never agreed to go out with a guy with a girlfriend, but I was so enamoured by him, and I thought the course of events was God’s way of telling me ‘he’s the one,’ I had to make the exception.

The next day I sent him a message saying Good Morning. His response: “This is the most beautiful ‘good morning’ I could have.”

So Italian.

Here’s where I’m funny. If I’m not really liking someone, I’d roll my eyes at this and say, “gimme a fuckin break buddy.” If I like you, I eat that shit right up. Keep the corny comments coming.

So we see each other immediately that afternoon. I like that. Quick. We had a great time and walked arm in arm around Milan. I got a little taste of what my life would be like with a boyfriend here. Saturdays walking around the center together instead of napping all day to go out partying at 1AM. I got a bit ahead of myself and wondered what it would be like to move in with him, and finally FINALLY split my rent in half.

I actually felt like I had known the guy forever, for once I was really ‘excited’ about this one.

Two days later he messaged me again for a second date. I really liked this guy’s style, wasn’t wasting any time. He said he couldn’t wait to see me. I reciprocated (I did feel that way), and I wanted to cringe because sappy words like that literally feel horrid in my mouth. When I say them it’s like I’ve bit into something sour. But I reasoned, as long as it’s in Italian, it’s ok.

Second date: we went to dinner. Then, as you know, he dropped the bomb.

This guy was on a goddamn emotional roller coaster after that and he was taking me for the ride. He breaks the bad news, to which I respond, “So what the fuck am I doing here then?”

Why in God’s name am I packed like a sausage into these control top pantyhose with the oh-so-comfortable ass shaper to be taken to dinner and told that you plan on getting married…..to someone else….This was all followed by confusion, then moments of clarity, then moments as if nothing had happened. Followed by making out in the restaurant. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable with public displays of affection, to which he looked me dead in my eye, and in English said, “I don’t care for nothing!”

Of course not, you’re Italian. You block traffic in the metro during rush hour to make out with your significant other. I’m American, we don’t do that. We just splash our sex tapes across the internet and get famous for it.

We left the restaurant and made out some more. Against a building, under the rain. It was then that I had MY moment of clarity. I could really see how this little man humping my leg against a building was going to get married in two years. Really. It seems he’s heading for a storybook ending.

So he takes me home, we pull up in front of my house, and he says, “Heather, I think it’s better we don’t see each other anymore.”

WHAT? Did the last half hour humping my leg mean NOTHING to you? Ok, I said. You clearly don’t know what you want and I do, so I can’t waste my time with someone like you. Good luck to you.

I get out of the car and he jumps out.

“No, no, no, wait!! I’m just, it’s complicated, I’m confused.”

Oh, no shit?

He follows me into the foyer of my building, we make out some more, I finally send him on his way.

Then the next morning I get the dramatic, “I don’t know what I want right now so it’s not fair to you” message. Jesus Christ. Who’s got the vagina here, me or you?

I knew he had a girlfriend, fine. I should have steered clear. But what the hell is this guy, who’s planning on getting married doing by taking a girl out to dinner and asking for a third date?

I’ve dated some bad people. Losers, bad boys, people who a good girl like myself that comes from a good family has no business being with. That was a phase that I’m glad to say is over in my life, and I think I have Italy to thank for that. I can actually say that I’m attracted to good guys these days. The problem is, they’ve got problems too.

Case in point. This is one of my favs.

Two years ago I was home for Christmas and I was at this dive bar with my brothers, cousins and my Dad. My Mom had wanted me to meet this young guy who works with my Dad, and he happened to be at the bar that night. However, he was so drunk, I couldn’t even have a conversation with him. I somehow ended up talking to his designated driver, Bill. Nice guy, not totally my type, more all American looking, but he had a really good job and I thought, why not?

He text me the whole time I was home, a bit too much, but he’s a ‘nice’ guy. So we go on a date. Tt was fine, just no spark. I’m sorry, I can’t force it. When I got home, my Mom was waiting up and was like, “So?? How did it go??”

I said, “Yea, it was good, he’s nice.”

“You don’t like him, do you? I KNEW IT!”

I explained there was just no spark for me. She then proceeds to take out a list, yes a friggin LIST, which she entitled, REASONS WHY HEATHER WON’T LIKE THIS GUY.

She legitimately sat home while I was on this blasè date with the investment banker and brainstormed a list. It went something like this:

1. Has a job

2. Has a really good job

3. Has a nice car

4. Opened the car door for you

5. Nice dresser

So of course, I go upstairs and wonder why I’m wired wrong and if I’ll die alone due to my ‘good guy deficiency.’

And I really tried to tolerate this guy, but he just got more clingy. I was leaving to come back to Milan anyways, what was the point? But every day, 10 messages a day. Then he shows up one night at that same bar after I said I’d be there with my family.

For some reason my family wasn’t being as friendly to him as I thought they would, so I was left entertaining this character who asked me about ten times, “Sooo….are ya havin fun?”

We’re not at a fuckin water park, buddy. Ask me again if I’m havin fun.

The next day I woke up and was eating breakfast with my family when the best ever ‘in your face’ moment happened.

My parents asked what I was doing that day. I said I felt bad, so I was just going to get a coffee with Bill.

They both looked at each other. And my Dad says, “I gotta tell you something. I just found out last night that Bill is married.”

Music to my ears. I’M OFF THE HOOK. Easiest excuse EVER.

My Mom could not look me in the eye. I loved every moment of it. She did, however, manage to put in her two cents…”Heather Anne, I don’t want this to ruin your image of nice guys. There ARE nice guys out there.”

So my point here is that it’s hard, very hard. I come from a dating backgound founded upon middle aged ex-strippers and self proclaimed ‘free spirits,’ which is code for ‘I have no job and stick my dick in whoever.’ But I can tell you, just because a guy has a job and takes you to dinner, doesn’t mean he hasn’t got some big bombshell he’s waiting to unload at the perfect time.

Like when your dinner arrives.