The Barber

I just want to start this post off by asking a few general questions. One: ARE THERE ANY DECENT MEN LEFT IN THE DATING WORD UNDER 60?! Next, I would like to know, in a world where many of my friends have managed to marry good, employed, God-fearing men, how do I keep attracting sex-obsessed super freaks? Meditate on these questions as I tell you the story that has unfolded over the past week.
Recently, I went out to dinner with Haynes. The restaurant was next to a barber shop, so I stopped inside to ask if there was a test that could be done to see if I had head rolls. You know, the ones that men have that look like hot dogs on the back of their necks? I wanted to know because I was considering chopping off all my hair and didn't want any surprises. The barber, a cutie in a '90s Ginuwine type of way, told me that I didn't and asked me if I wanted to move forward with the cut. I told him I would think about it.
After dinner, Haynes and I went back to the shop. I decided against the cut, but we all sat and talked for a while because the shop was empty. The barber, we will call him Chris, was super nice and sweet. I got the feeling that he was flirting with me but I don't trust myself when it comes to these things. After all, I thought that P was flirting with me for the last two years of college. I was incorrect. But Chris and I exchanged numbers, so this time I was right.
I will cut through the fluff and tell you that when he was talking to me with my friend present, he was the gingerbread man. Once we began texting one-on-one, he became Uncle Luke from the 2 Live Crew! The first red flag was when he asked me for nude photos. Sorry Charlie! I don't do nudes. I sent him a pic of me having fun at a friend's birthday party. The next day, after we had made a date to meet up and chill, he tells me he's had explicit dreams about me and wanted to book a hotel room. HUH?
"I told him that I am not the type of chick that books hotel rooms after less than a week of knowing someone," I proudly told P.
"No, that's not going to work," P informed me. "You said less than a week, like you'd do it after two weeks, maybe a month."
"That's not what I meant!" I assured P. But low and behold, that is exactly what he thought I meant. He politely let me know a couple of days later that he met some chick at a cupcake shop that is down for a three-way when I am ready. He's a gentleman you see. He's not trying to rush.
WHAT?
Again, I am disappointed. Where did my friends find their husbands and boyfriends? They seem like stand up guys. But I don't know that for sure. Maybe their nuptials took place after two or three years of this type of gross, disrespectful language. Maybe I have been in La-La Land this whole time, fantasizing about love and kind words, while the reality is vulgar language with requests for nude pics.
Watch me as I slide comfortably back into my lonely, single shell.