I Went On A Date With A Guy Who Stank Like Hot Garbage
He was cute, scruffy and just my type. Unfortunately, that dirty didn't wash off.
Medvid.com / Shutterstock I like scruffy guys. You know the type. The sexy, semi-bearded guy who doesn't know the difference between a mani and a pedi.
The sort of guy who can repair a car and kill bugs with his bare hands.
The kind of guy who isn't afraid to get a little dirty.
So when I had a vision during yoga class that I would meet a cute scruffy guy later that day, I thought for sure it was a blessing from the Universe when I met Josh that very evening.
I was quietly sitting at a local bar sipping on a hot toddy and typing away on an article I was working on, when I heard, "Have you tried the popcorn here?"
I turned to my right. In front of me was the very vision I had seen earlier in my mind; a tall, thin, bearded guy with a skull cap and a hoodie.
I couldn't believe my powers of manifestation. Or maybe it was just my powers of intuition.
As a cartoonist with vegetarian tendencies, he seemed right up my alley.
After we spent several hours chatting, (and munching Old Bay-seasoned popcorn), I finally decided to call it a night. He offered to walk me home, carrying my yoga mat and shopping bag.
When he asked if he could take me to an art exhibit over the weekend, I was swooning.
Our first date was what many a first date is; sweet but nervous.
After leaving the gallery, we had drinks and he walked me home, shyly telling me had a good time and would love to see me again.
When it came time for our second date, I was excited. He seemed sweet, gentlemanly and relatively normal. So of course, I was stoked.
Until he let the bomb drop; the smelly guy bomb.
When he picked me up in his truck for our second date, I almost threw up when I stepped in.
The car smelled like the worst NYC taxi on the hottest day of summer mixed in with a tub of ripe onions. I was horrified.
I knew we hadn't kissed on the first date and he did have several layers of winter clothing on, but I hardly suspected a stench worse than a steaming pile of garbage was lurking beneath.
Granted it was his car I was smelling and not him, but his truck had clearly obtained the stench from him.
I quickly rolled my window down in an attempt to alleviate the assault on my nostrils.
"Aren't you cold?" he asked, clearly perplexed as it was 35 degrees outside.
"Errr… no. I just really like fresh air." I tilted my head toward the window hoping for some relief.
He blathered on about life and family and asked me about my goals and interests; all the juicy things people talk about when they're on date.
But the stink was overwhelming it kept me from thinking about anything he had to say.
Instead my internal dialogue took over. Does Josh not bathe? Or wear deodorant? Is he depressed or something? What on earth do his balls smell like? Ew, I can't believe I just thought that.
I was offended.
When I go on a date, I get gussied up. I put on my heels, shave my legs, carefully curl my hair to create a wavy-I-just-woke-up-looking-like-this look and most importantly shower and wear deodorant.
And this guy, who was a freelancer and had all day to get ready, had clearly done no such thing. He had put in zero effort. It was like he just rolled out of the nearest homeless shelter before picking me up.
I decided all I had to do was make it through dinner and then I could go home. After what seemed like the longest dinner of my life, (I had to text my friend in the bathroom for moral support), I feigned sleepiness. Though I tried to take the subway, he insisted on driving me. Finally back at my place, I thought I was safe until he asked if he could come up to use the bathroom.
Damn it! I thought to myself. Now what?
I knew this was a ploy to lay one on me and I wanted to say no, but how could I deny someone use of the bathroom?
But then again, maybe this is the perfect time to assess for sure whether he smelled or it was just his car.
Post-kiss I could rest assured that I was making the right decision.
He came upstairs, took off his coat and after using the restroom came over and kissed me.
I almost vomited. Yep, he smelled too. It wasn't just his car.
At this point, I was so disgusted I had to kick him out.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not so uptight that I can't forgive a little bad breath or the occasional B.O.
But smelling like the inside of a dumpster crosses the line. There was no salvaging this one. I like "dirty" guys, but an actual aversion to bathing is not OK.
As soon as he left, I hopped in the shower to wash off the stench.
Rachel Khona has written for The New York Times, The Washington Post, Playboy, Penthouse, Maxim, and Cosmopolitan among others. When she’s not writing or designing, she is busy drinking wine and singing off key, bike riding, pretending she’s friends with Mindy Kaling and Amy Poehler, eating absurd amounts of cheese, or listening to rock music at an appallingly loud volume. Check out her book.