under Date Night
If you have to snoop through your significant other’s things then you shouldn’t be with that person. It’s as simple as that. If you can’t trust them, then why are you with them?
My friend Gina called me in a tizzy because she found a bar receipt for nearly $100 in her boyfriend’s jeans when he said he was working late. Of course, he shouldn’t have lied to her about where he was, but she also shouldn’t be going through his pockets. He very well could have gone out for drinks with his coworkers after they finished their project to celebrate the completion, but that’s not the point. Her snooping was clearly founded because she doesn’t trust him and he obviously gave her reason not to. They both need to save each other the grief that will occur when she confronts him because then she will end up looking like the bad guy — the untrusting snoop — not him — the untrustworthy liar.
A relationship without trust will not succeed.
A guy I’ve been speaking to for the past week or so refuses to give me his last name because he was scammed by a date recently. He insists we meet at a very elegant restaurant close by and although his reasons for not giving his last name sounds normal, I’m not all that comfortable. He sounds amazing and we really do click well. What do I do?
Dear Last Name Mystery,
I say go ahead and meet the guy. You’re going to a public location near your house so you’ll have an easy getaway. You can always have a friend sit at the bar incognito just in case. Keep your guard up because the lack of last name is slightly shady (although as a victim of identity theft myself I can empathize). I think it’s smart to protect yourself and not reveal too much too soon because you don’t know who’s behind the laptop. Meet the guy and if you click in person then you can exchange more personal information.
under Date Night
You give yourself two full hours to prepare for your date. Though it is probably futile, you give your all to get ready to meet the astronaut-supermodel-doctor whom you have been talking to via JDate for the past day and a half. You are so focused on a good impression that you even wash your pants. (Of course, you already know that pants are always clean no matter how many times in a row you wear them. Come on, they’re pants. Who washes pants daily, or even weekly? You do? They can get dirty just like every other item of clothing that you wear? Duly noted. I will write that on my fictitious bulletin board.)
You drive slowly to pick up your future astronaut-supermodel-doctor wife in order to look at yourself in the rear-view mirror as many times as possible. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have noticed the shaving cream on both sides of your neck or your big ugly face. You reflect on all of the joyous online conversations the two of you have shared. She trusted you enough to tell you, a relative stranger, that she is afraid of bugs, while you have already told her, in great detail, about your obsessive-compulsive disorder and your fear that you may never love again. You remember finding it peculiar that in every photo she has shown you of herself she is wearing a mask. Also, she has refused to talk to you over the phone.
As you pull up to her house you notice the fact that it is not a house. You also notice that it looks more like an abandoned tool shed. There are no cars, or tractors, to report. There is, however, a mailbox in front of the shed as well as a satellite dish on the roof. You vaguely remember her telling you to not be surprised if you notice that her house looks a lot like an abandoned tool shed. You park in the street and walk up to her “house” with a bouquet of flowers in your hand because you are a romance movie stereotype, and she is, apparently, a farmer with no farm. You knock on her…siding. A middle-aged man opens the siding flap thing and welcomes you in. He said he’ll “go to the back” to get your date. There are no rooms, it is just a tool shed. He makes a loop around the inside of the tool shed and tells you that although she will not be available tonight, he would love to be taken out to dinner. You realize that you’ve just been “had by the farmer” as they say. (Nobody says that.) You make a run for your car.
Okay, this never happened, but the lesson is to not blindly trust people…or something.