Back when I was single and willing to give it a go, a fellow asked me if I would like to go for a walk on a trail on Larch Mountain. Larch Mountain is a bit of wilderness a scant 40 minute drive from the city. It is steep and brushy, and at least one hunter or hiker dies there each year, through lack of attention. But hey -it was a date. And he waxed lyrical about this well-marked and maintained trail, so I decided to give it a go. First, I dressed for the weather with multiple layers, a crackly sounding rain slicker, a good wool scarf and mittens stuffed in my pockets, sturdy hiking boots, and two pairs of socks. Second, we took my car. I'm not going into the woods with a stranger unless I know I can get myself out. I picked him up, and he looked quite handsome and rugged in a polo shirt, jeans, windbreaker and sneakers. I assumed, since he had gone on about the wonderful hikes he had taken, that he had expensive high-tech layers and one of those hooded raincoats that folds into a two-inch square pouch and fits in your hip pocket. The ride up was quite delightful, as he was witty and charming. He directed me to a parking lot, I locked the car, and he led off, down hill through the undergrowth on a short-cut to the path. I stopped, took a careful look around, oriented myself, mentally reviewed what I knew of the terrain, and followed him. He continued to be witty and charming as we bushwhacked down toward this wonderful trail that he was sure was just a little further along. Clouds built up. The temperature dropped. He chattered even more charmingly. Finally I planted my feet and declared, "We've been walking for an hour, and we haven't found that trail. Are you sure you know where it is?"
He got very silent. Finally he admitted, "We might be lost."
I replied, "You might be lost, but I know that if we just go back uphill, we'll hit the road."
"But that could be miles away!"
"You wanted a good hike."
"Let's just sit down and wait. Someone will come to look for us."
Then the sleet started to fall. He did not in fact have high-tech layers or a rain slicker. He didn't even have a baggie of trail mix. I was lost on a mountain that eats stupid people, with a totally useless, if charming, idiot. I gave him my wool scarf to tie around his head (Not even a hat - the moron!) and said, "I'm going home. You can come with me, or sit here and freeze." Then I headed uphill. Rather than try to retrace our wandering path through the woods, I surged in a direct line toward safety, which led through a couple of rhododendron thickets already becoming ice-encrusted with the steady sleet. The waste of skin trailing behind me began whining that his feet were cold and wet. It rains around here. What did he expect? We came up against the foot of a cliff and paused for a breather. He turned east. He had been drifting east all along. If you go east DOWN the hill, you need to go west back UP the hill. I snarled at him. He snapped back. I turned west and a few minutes later heard him thrashing along in my wake. Pouting, he trailed behind me for another half an hour when the ridge we were climbing met up with the top of the cliff, and we emerged into a paved parking lot. I set off briskly to the west, knowing the car would be about half a mile down the road. At the far east end of the parking lot I could see a lovely graveled, well-maintained path. "Oh look!" the dumb bunny remarked. "That's the path I wanted. I must have gone to the wrong parking lot! Oh, dopey me!"
Fuming in silence, I strode down the road, found the parking lot with my car, got in and set the heater on high. He opened the passenger door, settled his wet, shivering, blue-lipped self into the seat, And chirruped brightly, "That was kind of fun, wasn't it?"
I glared at him, and in my best thunderous roar, named him an anal orifice and told him to shut the fornication up or I would kick him out of the car. I took him home, and warned him not to ever call me again because he was clearly too stupid to breathe. He was at least bright enough to take my warning.
What was your worst date?
