When I started this feature, I had no idea how many of you would be eager to throw your hats into the, “Oh you think that’s bad? Listen to this!” ring. But it’s a pretty full arena, to say the least. We’ve already heard about dates that involve third parties, fetishes, bodily functions and even blood relatives (remind me not to take any dating tips from you guys, by the way).

This week’s tale isn’t actually about online dating per say, but in a roundabout way still relates back to the topic. Stick with me, you’ll understand. It comes courtesy of Alex in Manhattan – female Alex, that is. Her story is short and sweet, but too good not to share. Drum roll please…

Dennis, the sales rep: I met Dennis through a friend of a friend (coworker, actually). My friend was having a birthday party, so a lot of people in our extended social circle were there, among them a guy named Dennis. When he approached me at the party I thought he was really good looking, but that’s not why I couldn’t stop staring at him. I should’ve actually said, “met AGAIN,” for accuracy’s sake. But I’m jumping ahead…

He flirted heavily, and when he asked me my name I searched his face for a flicker of recognition – nothing. Did I mention that I knew almost instantly that I’d not only gone out with this guy before, but we’d slept together? Yeah, nice to see you again buddy. Thanks for making me feel special.

He continued to try to be charming, and I didn’t let on that I knew who he was. He finally suggested after about 15 minutes of chatting that we should go out, and that he’d love to take me on a date. PS, after we’d hung out the last time he just did the fall-off-the-face-of-the-earth move that guys are notorious for, so I wasn’t exactly lining up for an encore. I played along for a little while, but the more drunk and overconfident he seemed, the more I just wanted to put him in his place.

Finally, after listening to him tell me what he did for a living (I remembered already, since we’d initially met on an online dating site, therefore had exchanged these pleasantries and biographical information already), I interjected. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I just need to interrupt you for a minute. Actually, on second thought, I don’t think a date is a good idea.’ He stared at me dumbfounded.

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea,’ I continued, ‘because if memory serves you didn’t have such great equipment to work with, and also your apartment smelled like a cat. Not only do I hate when guys have cats (*Miss Wingman note: I couldn’t agree more), but I really hate guys who sleep with so many women that they don’t even remember one of them when they’re looking them in the face.’ Now he was not only staring, but his mouth dropped open and he was turning red.

‘So yeah, I think I’ll skip the repeat performance, since you clearly found it as memorable as I did,’ I said. ‘Thanks for reminding me what I’m NOT missing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go chat up someone who hasn’t seen me naked with no recollection of it. ‘Night.’ And then I walked away. Men of NYC, I implore you: If you’re going to sleep your way through this city, at least try and remember your conquests, thanks.”

Alex: How very gangsta of you, if a little bit angry and harsh (but can’t blame you). A few things here – first, I’m sorry, I just can’t get past the fact that his name was Dennis. I keep having visions of Mr. Belding when I hear this story, make it stop. Secondly: remind me not to get on your bad side. But thanks for the laugh. And finally, to the men out there: I’ll emphasize her last point about remembering your conquests. Not only is it in poor taste to forget, but do it for your own peace of mind. You never know when ghosts from your past will come walking into your life again…and your bar.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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