Shady Vet Dude, or Sometimes Smart Women Make Stupid Choices

I got popped by my management office several ago for not having Greatest Puss in the World on the books. Needing the green light from a local vet to get everything in order, I played darts with the yellow pages, booked an appointment, forced the fighting Puss into his carrier, and arrived just in time to get the Puss his shots and myself into a little mess.

Shady Vet Dude started in with the flirting almost immediately. Feeling particularly on my game (although not, I realized a bit too late, particularly attracted to him), I reciprocated. When I left, he was waiting for me outside the office. Our brief exchange ended with him in possession of my number.

The texts started within the hour, infused with words like gorgeous and beautiful* and sexy. By the end of the night, he'd called four times. Each time, he called from a different number than the one he used to text me. Different than the one that, he made sure to point out, I should call. That I was allowed to call. His excuse for the separate numbers? A living situation that involved his ex-girl.

I agreed to go out with him on the condition that we head for a public place (rather than my house, as he'd presumptuously suggested). A round of appetizers later, our lips were locked in the parking lot, his hands taking more liberties with the exploration of my body with each passing moment. The rush of hormones and the feelings of high-school follies fogged my mind.

So, when I see you again, will I be seeing Belle or my girlfriend?

Wait. What!?! The fog cleared just enough for me to respond appropriately, with mention of that being a ludicrous request for a first date.

Only later, after more kissing and touching and teasing and the parting of ways, did I slow down to really think about all the things that didn't add up. The separate numbers. The rules about when and where we could meet. The suggestions that we spend our time together at my place. The too-much-for-a-first-date action, accompanied by unsolicited promises that he was looking for a relationship, not a fling. The way he avoided answering questions while demanding that I "open up" to him. The guilt-tripping manipulation tactics he had already begun employing.

It took me about a day to conclude that he was married, or, at best, still dating the woman he lived with. I still hadn't decided what to do to get rid of him. When he asked me out again the next day, I accepted and planned on recounting to his face all the ways in which I found him shady.

No sooner than I agreed to meet him, he did a 180 and started making (seriously lame) excuses about why he couldn't see me that evening, after all. So I told him exactly what was up on the phone instead.

The main points? Even if he was telling me the truth about everything (which I'm fairly confident he wasn't), his life was too fucked up to get another person involved. I deserve better than having to sneak around and entertain last-minute plans and changes of said plans.

His reaction? Well, it sounds like you're having some misgivings. Why don't you take tonight to think about it and call me tomorrow.

A few ball-less texts flowed my way that evening and the next day. The down-in-history classic being: Okay, look, I don't want to just give up on us. Second chance?

Us? Us?!? Oh no, buddy, one date doesn't not make you and me an us. Geez-o-pete.

Shady Vet Dude's sad little reach-outs garnered no response from me and eventually petered out.

But the best part? Now that SVD has stopped contacting me, Puss has decided to go and get himself a cyst or tumor or some other kind of scary growth.

I may or may not have to see SVD when I take Puss to the vet, but I plan on looking smoking hot and playing it totally cool, just in case.



* No, really, it was "beautifull," which should have been enough to make me ignore him from the start.