Steph Not Stephanie

First of all, I want to say how humbled and amazed I am that this blog has more than 1,100 page views. If you’re one of the lovely people who reads regularly, thank you so much; if this is your first time here, I hope you stick around. I’ll try to entertain you the best I can.

This blog is a great procrastination tool (I should be cleaning, but instead I’m blogging and drinking white wine while wearing a tiara. This is why I’m single?), but lately I’ve been procrastinating instead of blogging. I wrote an entire post the other day that started out about procrastination and ended with another bad date story, and Chrome ate it (nom nom nom?). I’ve also been struggling for material since I declared a moratorium on dating, but I’m not yet willing to re-enter the clusterfuck that is online (or any other) dating just for the sake of you, dear reader.

Luckily, since I started writing, people have been coming out of the woodwork to try to top my bad dates. During a recent brunch with a friend, she told me she had the bad online dating story. A friend of hers was seeing a guy when he decided it was time to have the fetish talk. He started out slowly, a relatively tame foot fetish, which just meant more foot massages for her. A few dates later, he felt comfortable enough to share another favourite activity. They were out for dinner when he leaned over and told her that not only was he into wearing diapers, he was currently wearing one. That was the end of their ill-fated romance.

I would’ve been more shocked at my friend’s story, but I actually had a diaper incident of my own, which until that brunch I had completely forgotten about. That’s how bleak the dating situation has become: diaper stories don’t even make headlines anymore!

A couple of years ago, I was talking to a guy who seemed nice (don’t they all, until you delve deeper?). We were in the texting stage, and we were talking about what we were looking for in a partner. I said being with someone non-traditional was very important. He said he fit the bill, and went on to explain that he didn’t believe in socks or traditional medicine. An interesting combo, but neither were dealbreakers. He told me he felt really comfortable with me, and he had something he needed to share: he had digestive issues and sometimes needed to wear a diaper, especially if he ate spicy food. Wait, what? Digestive issues and things beyond his control, I could handle. Choices like spicy food, I was a bit less able to wrap my head around. He also joked about how he never had to wait in line for the bathroom at concerts or sporting events, hardy har har.

I spent the next couple of days hashing things out with my friends and mentally beating myself up. Could I date someone who chose to eat food which required him to need a diaper? Was I an asshole if I didn’t date someone because of a medical issue? What about sexytimes, who deals with the diaper then? It was just too much to handle with someone who was, essentially, a stranger. Even so, I was still really torn up about the idea of hurting this guy’s feelings after he made such a big deal about being able to open up.

I heard from him the next day, when he sent me an early morning text. He said he would’ve slept in, if not for the condition of his diaper. Sorry, what??? I asked if that was a joke, and he said it was. I told him I didn’t find it very funny, and that I had been struggling with the issue all weekend. His response? “LOL.” Are you fucking kidding me, LOL? I asked if the whole thing was a joke, and he said it was, but I’m not sure I believe him. This male, knee-jerk reaction to save face doesn’t do anything except make you look like even more of an asshole. We went our separate ways, and I went on to even lovelier online dating stories. I’ll never know for sure, but if you end up on a date with a guy who eschews socks and tells you he’s wearing a diaper over three-alarm wings, I feel for you.