The last man I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.
Last Friday, I consented to go on a date with my ward's Mr. Collins. One can only come up with so many excuses you know.
I firmly believe that every BYU singles ward {or any other singles ward for that matter} has its own Mr. Collins. And these men, though well-meaning are quite simply socially inept. They are usually good men who just cannot seem to take a hint or at least hit on the right girls in the right way. I do not hate this particular Mr. Collins in the least, he is just...how can I put this nicely? Tactless and obtuse.
Mr. Collins had selected some obscure service event that involved only married or seriously dating couples for our date that hapless Friday night. We sat down at a table laden with brightly colored construction paper, scissors, and markers. Card-making for the elderly. Crafts. The bane of my existence.
As I scrawled sickeningly sweet consolatory words across the cards, a perfectly happily wedded couple seated across from us asked how long we had been dating. Before the question could register in my mind as genuine, Mr. Collins {in a vain attempt to be smooth and encourage romantic vibes} secured his arm around my shoulders, giving me a tender squeeze and sighed, "About two months." I guffawed nervously, which must have been mistaken by the couple as a giddy fit of giggles because they retreated with winks and rapidly wiggling eyebrows.
Mr. Collins chuckled proudly to himself. I cut paper furiously.
My stunned silence became too much for Mr. Collins. He pitched an idea for a card to me. "What would you think if I drew a picture of a dog taking a dump on some grass on the front, and on the inside it said, 'Don't have a crappy day!'" Mr. Collins burst into fits of laughter at his own genius. My silence and my sharp snapping scissors cut his laugh short.
"You don't think that's funny?" he asked.
"Not in the least," I replied. "In fact I think it's disgusting." There was no point to create any attempts to salvage this date. Call me what you will, but I am a rare breed of girl who does not enjoy poo jokes. Especially on dates.
However, once that was behind us, I did attempt to be somewhat less cold, just so his ego might be bolstered a little. And that proved to be a ghastly mistake.
I imagined that once Mr. Collins was driving us back to our apartment complex, that that was the end of the evening. I was finally beginning to breathe normally once my apartment door was in view. But oh no. Mr. Collins had other plans. Many other plans indeed. We were to go to his apartment to spend the rest of our curfew-free hours watching a movie.
Grim and disagreeable images of Mr. Collins trying to hold my hand or put his arm around me or kiss me even {Heaven help me!} began to strut themselves across my imagination. Mr. Collins retired to the kitchen to fetch glasses of water and he asked me to put the DVD in the player. I was grateful that the movie was of a sort that contained very few romantic scenes. Nothing to inspire him. Mr. Collins planted himself on one corner of the couch, and I quickly retreated the other end. Far, far away from his Collins-ness.
"Why are you sitting so far away from me?" he crooned.
"I have a large bubble that's all," I answered coldly. No one that I have ever heard of has a bubble of a five foot radius. "Also, I was a little sick earlier this week, I don't want you to catch my germs." Yes. I lied.
For the moment Mr. Collins let me be. But every fifteen minutes or so Mr. Collins would ask, "Why are you sitting so far away from me?" And I would give the same answer. Sometimes he added more to the question asking if it was his breath or his body odor {insert sniffing of armpits}, to which I gave a frank "No".
Finally, {the most glorious moment of my life} the movie ended, and I gave a dramatic yawn, "My it's late isn't it?" Mr. Collins escorted me to my door and gave me an unnecessarily long, lingering hug. I thanked him politely, wasted no time with my keys, and was inside in a moment. The only problem was, Mr. Collins followed right behind me.
Inside my head I was screaming. Both {not just one} of my eyes were twitching.
After inquiring after my roommates' health and such other pleasantries, Mr. Collins was kind enough to bid us a goodnight, but not without another unendurable hug.
That night in my prayers I asked if God would please bless this soul with the right woman in his life, and that it would not be me. For I would apostatize before I married such a man. And then I asked that he would send Mr. Darcy quickly, for my days were becoming numbered.
Oh, dear Mr. Collins. May you always have a Charlotte Lucas to fall back on, and may she never be one of my friends.
Con Amor,
The Coquette
5 comments:
Oh my goodness. I know it was unbearable for you, but that was hilarious to read about haha. I hope I never have a date with one such as Mr. Collins!
I absolutely love your writing style, "As I scrawled sickeningly sweet consolatory words across the cards..." so great! Love the alliteration! Keep it up :)
This was a great post! I laughed, I cringed, I jumped from shock. I loved it! :)
I love a good poop joke as much as the next person but on a date is not the place to bring those to light, or to even admit you think they're funny. I'm with you on the crafts, too. Bane of my existence indeed.
That sounds like it was just an awful experience. I am afraid that I too am a Collins. Brutal honesty with charitable intent is sometimes is the only way that we Collins' will get the message. Elizabeth spoke so fervently that Mr. Collins could not misunderstand her feelings. To all the Elizabeths out there who speak their minds so prudently, I thank you. Us Mr. Collins' will someday learn. Thank you for your courage, thank you for caring enough to speak your minds. For those who are not like the Elizabeths, please, bear with us until we finally get what should do as men.
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