Ok, That’s The Last Time I Date An Undecided Voter
So I met this cute guy at a party, and he let it slip that he was an undecided voter. I knew they existed, but I thought they were just, you know, sad little people in bright red sweaters who showed up for presidential debates every four years. I didn’t realize they actually walked among us. I was a little put off at first, but he seemed nice enough; I agreed to have dinner, oblivious to the horror that awaited me.
Everything was fine until the busboy asked my date if we wanted sparkling or tap water. That took a while. But it was nothing compared to the agonizing cocktail selection process. Then it hit me: I had never stopped to think about the hideous level of uncertainty necessary for someone to be politically neutral, especially these days. And then the waiter came with the menus, which of course were full of more painful choices that were only made more difficult by the endless list of tantalizing specials. An hour or so later, as my date was still wringing his hands over what to get for his main course, I pulled the waiter close to me and whispered in his ear that if he showed up with a dessert menu, he was a dead man. And when my date finally closed his cobweb covered menu and ordered, I foolishly blurted out, “So, are you a Cubs or White Sox fan?” and all hell broke loose.
So that’s it. No more politically-neutral dating for me—done, finished.
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