The last man I could ever be prevailed upon to marry. Episode Two.
I am still debating whether my first or second date with Mr. Collins was the worse of the two.
But please allow me to explain how Mr. Collins finagled me into this second date. If you were thinking he asked for a date and I replied with a simple, "Yes," you are dead wrong my friends.
Mr. Collins hopped his little self over to my apartment to discover me studying at the kitchen table. Which is truly unfortunate because I rarely ever study at my kitchen table. So there I was completely vulnerable with nothing but a book of Shakespeare as a weapon. Heavy though it may be, Shakespeare did not help me that night. In fact he was my downfall.
"Hey, you know a lot about poetry right?" Mr. Collins asked, noticing the large book perched in front of me.
I shrugged my shoulders. Just because I might study Shakespeare does not mean that I am an automatic expert on the subject of balladry.
"I'm in a literature class right now, and could really use some help," he explained. "Do you think we could talk about poetry some time?"
I mumbled something about not being adept in poetry analysis, but I could help a little.
"Great, it's a date," he said excitedly.
"NO. It is not a date. You can come over and I will try to help you, but we are not going on a date."
"Why are you trying to get out of going out with me?"
"Probably because I do not want to go out."
"Why?"
Now please allow me to explain an important detail. My relationship with Mr. Collins lies somewhere between acquaintanceship and friendship. He frequents our apartment, and most of the time I do not mind at all. He is not a horrid human being, but like I said: socially inept. Quirky. Quite quirky.
And because I do count Mr. Collins as an acquaintance/friend, I did not want to give an "ultimate punch" to his already fragile confidence by saying, "Because I cannot stand being alone with you." Though I believe in honesty, I believe more firmly that barefaced honesty should be avoided if it will damage another human being.
Naturally, I skirted around the object as best I could. "I don't really like going on dates. I'm not much of the dating sort." A blatant lie. In fact to avoid telling the truth to Mr. Collins on multiple occasions, he now believes that I hate dating, that I am a man-hater, I abhor physical contact with the opposite sex, and that I am also anti-marriage. And if you have read even one of my other posts, you would know how utterly ridiculous these claims are.
And yet Mr. Collins did not yield.
After forty-five minutes (not an exaggeration) of telling, pleading, threatening, and demanding, Mr. Collins left my house convinced that we was to pick me up on Friday for a poetry date. (Please tell me that you pictured the real Mr. Collins' proposal to Elizabeth Bennet. The situation was entirely too ironic).
That dreaded Friday night, Mr. Collins showed up half an hour early to "hang out" before we actually went out. How thoughtful.
The nitty gritty details are irrelevant at this point.
If I may paint a picture for you:
The Coquette slouched in a chair in a crummy apartment kitchen which smells of sweaty men, rapidly throwing large, juicy tomato-like words (I have a strange fascination with throwing mental tomatoes at people I find irritating) towards Mr. Collins' face. Thinking perhaps that if she throws harder and faster, then perhaps she may be able to go home sooner. Each attempt to discuss the proposed topic (the tomatoes which have been referred to) of said date are batted at nonchalantly by the tennis racket (metaphorically speaking) of Mr. Collins, who has no real desire to talk about poetry at all. The effects of the throwing and batting result in a tomato smeared kitchen, a fuming Coquette and a gleeful Mr. Collins.
"Would you ever think about writing under a pseudonym?" Mr. Collins asked, taking another swing at a particularly messy tomato.
"I've never really considered it," I replied lamely whilst catapulting another. "This poor fool," I thought to myself. "Little does he know that I am already composing a biting piece about this date to post on the secret dating blog I write for..."
Not soon enough, Mr. Collins got tired of swatting at my tomatoes, and decided to take me home.
Once again, he followed me into my apartment uninvited, plopped himself down on the couch next to my sister, and proceeded to tell her about the date, noting that I was "awfully defensive". Luckily I did not hear this comment at the time as I had preoccupied myself with a group of friends playing Apples to Apples. I much prefer apples to tomatoes.
Eventually, Mr. Collins left without a glance in my direction and has not been back since. But all's well that ends satisfactorily because as well all know:
I do not like dates.
Con Amor,
The Coquette
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11 comments:
Dearest Coquette, we must be sisters! In order to protect myself from the advances of an overly eager Mr. Collins of my own, I too resorted to outlandish lies! In the end, I demanded a ride home and when we got there, he refused to let me out--probably because I'd refused to kiss him. Finally, I declared I was a lesbian and he jokingly told me to get out of the car. He finally unlocked it and I bolted. Then he was made the EQP in my ward and SOMEhow was my home teacher. I don't know how I survived, but I did. Years later, I ran into him and his daughter, who happens to have my name. He made it clear that she was not named after me--it's not spelled the same or anything! Ha ha! I'm glad to be in the same club as The Coquette--if not for being the classiest, for at least sharing the inability to get out of such hapless situations without having to resort to proclaiming the craziest of untruths.
Thanks for sharing that story, it was enough to make me laugh.
It's incredible to me that there are guys who are actually . . . like this.
Here's hoping he picked up a few hints from the end of the "date".
"Would you ever think about writing under a pseudonym?" Mr. Collins asked, taking another swing at a particularly messy tomato.
He's on to you! Haha!
Sometimes even the wise words of Nancy Reagan (Just Say No) doesn't even cut it. If you didn't hate dates before, I'd be surprised if you weren't one step closer now.
At least he didn't make a poo joke on top of it all?
~Featherstone McGee
Boring people are actually the most self-centered! He isn't showing any genuine interest in The Coquette as a person. He probably just looks at her as an object. Too bad for him, because Coquette as an actual person, with all her feelings and passions and ambitions, sounds pretty great.
Dear me, I just realized my comment made it sound like neither of us are classy! I meant that I was thrilled to be in the same club as classy Coquette, even if I'm not the classiest. I'm just muddling this. Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed reading about your date! :)
I would love to know what was going through his head. Perhaps he thinks he's helping you work through your issues with dating by giving you more experience?
At least he didn't call to "Perhaps try and convince you to go out with [him] again."
TRUE STORY.
Not to me, but a friend, with a similar sounding Mr. Collins. You are not alone, my dear.
Oh dear. Guys who won't take a hint (or in your case, an outright denial) are the worst! However irritating it was for you, I can't help but laugh.
As a guy, I want to thank you for doing exactly what most of us want you to do: you were honest & direct without being hurtful. Mr. Collins going on is more than social ineptness - he's deluding himself into believing that he can catch you (or anyone) with the right approach, something no RM should still think. I hope you avoid all further attempts! Hopefully he gets the message without destroying your current semi-friendship or his life.
Just a thought... If he reads the entries for the blog contest, won't he recognize the story? Goodbye, anonymity! Of course, that may not be possible, but it gave me a chuckle.
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