Dating Blogger Emily: War and Plush

Anyway yesterday was my second date with my Tolstoy scholar. Dr. Tolstoy (he has a PHD is Russian Theater) and I had a fabulous first date. Not only is he brilliant, but the man has been on Oprah! In my family, appearing on Oprah is the equivalent of marrying a doctor. 

For our second date, Dr. T invited me to his apartment for dinner and Netflix. Normally, I would never go to a boy’s home on the second date, but this was my Tolstoy. At this point, in my head, our children are named, china patterns are chosen, and I already know which of my bitchy cousins I am not inviting to the wedding. So clearly, I wanted to see his place. I wanted him to whisper sweet Russian nothings in my ear. I swear if he had said “dah” or “borsht” he could probably have had me naked in 4.5 seconds.

When I showed up at Dr. T’s apartment he greeted me with a Harlequin, Fabio-esque kiss. Good start. Then he gave me the customary tour-of-the-apartment: living room – very nice, bathroom: seat down – bonus points. Then we reached the bedroom.

I don’t know quite how to describe the sight of his bedroom. No, there wasn’t porn around. At this point, that would have been a welcome sight. No. What I saw before me, on his bed, was – not one, not two, but a mound of stuffed animals. Now, when I say mound, I mean something that explorers would climb and mount. I think it had a base camp. I just stared at Tolstoy and stammered. There were elephants with chintz jumpers. Teddy bears holding giant hearts, dressed in gingham. There was a monkey in a diaper. Stuffed animals. Apparently FAO Schwartz’s Going-Out-of-Business sale found a home in his bedroom. All I could think was “Oh my god. He isn’t Tolstoy. He’s Borat.”

He saw my utter shock and said “Uhhh, my ex-girlfriend gave me one of those.”

“And your Ob/GYN gave you the other 4 dozen?” I asked. The animals were dressed and accessorized! Frankly, I am the only one in a relationship who should accessorize. I needed to escape. I just turned and said, “I have to… uh, go… I have pink eye …and cramps …and my prostate is bad …and ….” 

Now, I was in “special gym” when I was a little girl, you know, for the less gifted. But I took PE class from an evil lesbian teacher who taught me how to run. I gave a contribution at Temple in the name of that PE teacher because I have never run quite so fast. I think all Tolstoy saw was my elbows and ass as I bolted through the door. I don’t even remember actually opening the door. I think I probably exited like the Hi-C pitcher guy.

Tolstoy called me today and left some stumbling message on my machine. I guess I’ll call him back – and plan our third date to get our bikini’s waxed. Chalk one more up for my sister-in-law.

Next week is my date with my new actor. I don’t think I have ever been so thrilled to go out with someone without health insurance.