Chronicles of Mr. Wrong – A Diary of Disastrous Dating
Elizabeth Hecht
Author Bio
A devoted Mother, and PMP Certified Project Manager, I have worked at the same company for almost twenty years. I enjoy craft beer, blogging about craft beer, outdoors, art festivals, cooking, baking and entertaining. I’m originally from Chicago, but grew up all over the United States. I’ve called Florida home, since 1992. Dating for me, really began in my thirties, as a single mom. I wish you many happy dates!
Description
Are you tired of dating “advice”? Exhausted from dating? Can you relate to ridiculous dating and relationship stories, from a 30-something single mom? This book is for you: Funny stories, and insight from three years of dating “Mr. Wrongs” in South Florida.
Over the course of the last few years, I’ve made poor choices, dodged douchebags, and ventured into the online world of dating in South Florida. In the process, I’ve learned a lot, and more than anything, I have gathered a lot of stories and insight. Some of them are compiled into my book: “Chronicles of Mr. Wrong – A Diary of Disastrous Dating”. I hope you enjoy the entertainment, and insight aspect of them.
Some were bad choices. Some were just bad. They’re all recapped in detail, for your entertainment! Open a bottle of wine, and step into a non-fiction world that a lot of women (and men) can relate to!
Book excerpt
I will never forget my first online date. He had a cute, full body length photo. Educated, well-rounded, successful, kind and considerate forty-two year old man that lived in a really exclusive part of Miami, and sold real estate. We talked about two weeks on the phone before he would make plans to meet. This was the first red flag. If he’s not making plans to see you, there’s a reason. Unless he’s out of town, there should be something in your schedules to meet, to see if there’s even chemistry. What did I know? I went with the flow, and after a few times of me asking about meeting, he finally made plans. Being my first online date, I was scared. Really scared. He lived near Miami Beach, about 45 minutes away from me. He offered to drive to me, but there was no way I wanted him anywhere near my house. So, like an idiot, I offered to meet near him. I would never drive that far this day and age, for a first date / meet and greet. I figured it was safer, and we agree to meet on Lincoln Rd, at a cute Italian place.
I arrive early, find a seat at the bar, and order a Malbec to offset my nerves. I’m secretively glancing at the door each time it opens, watching for Mr. Wonderful. By this point, our two weeks of phone conversations (via landline – hold that thought), were great. We talked about, me not having to work, raising our future kids, alongside mine, and buying a home near my kids’ schools, and one overseas for vacationing. Perfect, right? Sure. Perfect until he walked in. As I sipped my savory wine from Argentina, I hear a familiar voice within earshot of the door. I glance over, and think no – that can’t be him. He’s about 60. I hear “Liz”? My stomach drops. I look up, and say “Sergio?” It was him. He was at least sixty years old! I wanted to collapse and poof – close my eyes, click my Carlos Santana stilettos three times, and be back home suburbia. If that would happen today, I would leave immediately! But, since I was new to dating, and we’ve established I was naïve, I sat through dinner, and listened to promises that could easily come true.
Did I want a villa in France or Italy? (I had an option). I never had to work again, and the biggest decisions I’d stress over, were which finishes for our multiple homes. The perfect opportunity of being a gold-digger was right there, being handed to me on a vintage silver platter, along with shrimp that made me sick, and wine that I couldn’t drink fast enough. I thought about it, for maybe a half-of-a-quarter-of-a-second, but no. I would rather eat Top Ramen every day of my life, than wake up to saggy balls and a pasty white senior citizen next to me. I can’t do it. After sitting through a tortuous dinner, he walked me to my car, and tried to kiss me. I did the duck and slide move, so his elderly lips ended up on my young flushed cheek. I never saw him again, obviously. I texted him, saying he didn’t look like his pictures. I should not have ever talked to him again, in retrospect. But no, being the people pleaser that I once was, I engaged in his conversation as he offered to “get more tan”, “start working out again”, and “getting a cell phone”. Dude, no. Gold-digging is not my thing, so I moved on to the next.
Best place to buy your book
http://www.mrwrongbook.com