"I'm out w/the biggest a-hole," my friend, Karen, texted me the other night while I was home watching TV, and her date was away from their table.
"He ask u how big ur tits are?" I typed back, happily turning my attention away from some show about making cakes.
"He told me to give my uterus back."
"To whom? To him? Huh?" I texted back, confused, while dying to hear all about it. I love me a good bad date story.
But Karen never texted back. I waited an hour and a half before I called her, trying to imagine a circumstance in which telling your date to give back her uterus was acceptable. I could think of only one: When you want your date to get her friend to blog about what a douche you are.
Turns out, Karen's date was offended by her lack of desire to have kids and insisted that if she wasn't going to use her uterus, she should give it back. He didn't specify to whom, or whether it would be for a refund or exchange, but he followed up his demand by telling Karen that she wasn't a real woman, she was selfish, and a freak of nature. He then asked her out again.
When Karen asked him why he'd even want to see her again, he told her he likes to give women at least two whole dates before ruling them out. Karen told him she needed one whole date to rule someone out, but that her uterus hated him at hello.