No, before you ask, I can neither confirm nor deny the endowedness of The Buffet Boss. I didn’t go there.

I can also neither confirm nor deny via the internet whether or not the word endowedness is a real word. I fear it is one of those words people make up and use until it becomes common in the English language, like misunderestimated.

Could someone verify this for me, please?

Anyway, I’m feeling a little beat up lately. I’m not going to be a big crybaby, but I am going to whine about it for the next few sentences  paragraphs. You see, I don’t think I need my readers picking my dates for me. I know what I like in a man, and I knew there was nothing to pursue with The Buffet Boss before I ever went on a date with him. I only went because some of you who shall remain…(Kathy, Kat, and Will) …said I needed to step out of my box and start asking men out. Then, there was all this crap about the qualities I liked about him, how we had sought each other out throughout the evening, yada, yada, yada.

Plus, lately some of my friends have been alluding to this idea that I need to keep my dates around after I date them. To which I have to ask…

…WHY?

Do you people think I’m lonely?

According to Facebook, I have more friendships than I can reasonably be expected to maintain. I am not lacking in friends. Scratch that. I have a lot of acquaintances. I have a handful of friends. My friends are people I can summon in the middle of the night if there is an emergency. My friends know about my shady shenanigans, and they love me anyway. My friends know when to stop asking questions and just hand me the fucking corkscrew.

I don’t need to go around acquiring a stable of male friends. I’m looking for a romantic partner, someone for a long-term relationship, and someday, someday soon I hope, before everything shrivels up and falls apart, I would like to get laid.

The only way keeping my dates around makes sense is if I have future plans to host a singles party and invite single women and all of my cast-offs. I suppose that way, if a woman is looking for a man with a flavor saver shaped like a little bird feeder, she can have him. The Karaoke Kripple could go to a woman with Florence Nightingale Syndrome. And, perhaps, finally, The “Masseur” would find a woman who wants a “deep” massage.

Believe me, ladies. If you want them, you can have them.

But I digress, and I’m ranting again. I don’t want to rant. I just want to say that from now on I will be following my own compass. Thank you very much.

So, you’re probably wondering what happened with The Buffet Boss. Well, the acquisition of this date actually ended up being far more involved than I anticipated. Hence my justification for the above whining. Since The Buffet Boss and I had not exchanged numbers on the night of the party, I had to go through the hostess to let him know I was interested in seeing him again. I contacted the hostess of the singles’ party where The Buffet Boss and I had met. I had to provide his name and the tidbit he had provided, and she sent him an email, informing him of my interest.

See, right there, I knew I was sending the wrong signal, or at the very least, a signal that might be too strong for my actual intention.

Within a few days, I received an email from The Buffet Boss and we lobbed a few more emails back and forth before settling on a date and time to meet again.

We met and ate sushi at Blue C Sushi. You may remember that The Buffet Boss’ claim to fame was that he could clean out a buffet, and this was apparent as I watched the plates stack up on his side of the table. I had my usual spider roll, salmon, and cream puff for dessert.

We talked much like we had on the night of the singles’ party. It was a banter filled with mostly meaningless information. Neither one of us was really digging very hard for the kind of information you might be seeking if you’re actually seeking a relationship if you know what I mean. It was just chit-chat. It was nice. It wasn’t awkward. It just wasn’t anything to write home about, and I think it left The Buffet Boss wondering why I had contacted him for a date.

At the end of the night, he walked me to my car, gave me a peck on the cheek, and we said goodnight. Although The Buffet Boss is a really nice guy, he is too fine boned for me to find him sexually attractive. I’m also not going to keep him around in the friend zone, and, quite honestly, I don’t think most guys want to be “just friends” with a woman anyway. I happen to believe Billy Crystal’s character, Harry, in “When Harry Met Sally…”

Men and women can’t be friends.

I don’t care how intellectually attractive a man may be; if you can’t see yourself having sex with him at some point, it’s best to just release him back out into the pond. I might see The Buffet Boss at next year’s singles’ party, but we won’t be going out on a date again.

And finally, after a few more emails with The Flavor Saver, I have also decided that I won’t be going back for any more facial hair up the nose action either.

I don’t know. Am I wrong? How do guys really feel about being in the friend zone?

The photo at the top of this post is from Grammarly on Facebook. Go LIKE them.