Last updated: March 20. 2013 8:00PM - 1543 Views
By Melissa Hughes, Weekender Correspondent



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Most men I have come in contact with since beginning this column are attention seekers looking to get their name in print. It seems everyone has their own private agenda, and it makes it really hard to meet someone genuine.

I spoke about this with a friend who works for a radio station and she has encountered similar issues. “Maybe if I date this girl, she will put me in her column” or, in my friend's case, talk about him on the radio. It's really hard to make a love connection when you never really know people's hidden, or in the case of this story, less-than-hidden agendas. Meet Darren.

After a series of coincidental run-ins, we decided to try a date. He met me out for a drink one Friday at the Susquehanna Ale House, and no more than five minutes in, the words came foaming out of his mouth like the deadly mix of pop rocks and soda: “So are you going to write about me in your column?”

Annoyed, I brushed it off with a laugh and sarcastic personal dig about how uninteresting he would be to write about. He was easier to figure out than a Stouffer's microwave dinner.

We had another round at the bar when, out of nowhere, he decided it was an OK idea to grab a random handful of my boob in front of a room full of people: “WTF, man?” I slapped his hand away and gave him a questioning, disapproving look.

He was both confused and defensive and said, “I read what you write about and I know what you're into.” Am I so transparent? Has my knight in groping armor finally arrived?

I looked dubiously at him. I asked, “When have I ever written that the way to my heart was by a squeeze on the boob?” He looked at me and replied, “Well, come on, you're obviously that kind of girl.”

What kind is that exactly? The kind that is three seconds away from playing soccer with your manhood? Yes, that's pretty damn accurate.

Needless to say, this date was over. I walked out with my head held high and my dignity intact.

Darren's goal was to get in the column. Well, here is your 15 seconds of infamy, oh mighty fondler of Wilkes-Barre. I really hope that all my other readers (who I love and cherish) also see that if they are in Darren's presence, a purple nurple is an absolutely appropriate alternative to the customary handshake.


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