At a recent networking event, I was advertising my writing services and in walked a skyscraper of a man. He stopped to talk and stayed at my table for the remainder of the night.
He was a 34-year-old, 6-foot-9 copywriter. He talked a lot about his dog, which was a plus given my love of animals. After a few hours, I asked my typical Gina questions:
No, he didn’t have a girlfriend. No, there wasn’t anyone who thought she was his girlfriend. My radar went off when he asked me out, and added: “I don’t want all of your time. I just want your extra time.”
Extra time? What is extra time?
We exchanged numbers, and he promised to call at noon the next day.
The phone rang promptly at noon. He wanted to get together that night, but I had plans. So he invited himself along to my friend’s birthday party.
At the party, I pulled the birthday girl into the bathroom to warn her about my crasher, who was coming later. She told me that her boyfriend knew Mr. Extra Time. It had to be the same guy.
We cornered her boyfriend for details. Apparently, Mr. Extra Time was dating his friend, who had never been to Mr. ET’s house because Mr. ET had a live-in who was the mother of his child.
I was insulted. In the past, men had tried to make me the other woman, but never had I almost been the other other woman.
When Mr. Extra Time arrived at 10 p.m. sharp, he was like butta. A true professional. I asked if he’d ever been married or had kids. He answered “no” to both questions. I resisted the urge to stand up and say: “Stop lying! You know you have a ‘baby mama!’ “
He expertly shifted the conversation to his dog. Two nights later, Mr. Extra Time asked me to meet for a drink. Sounds crazy, but I agreed. His cell rang every two minutes when we were out, and I overheard him tell one caller that he was with “Rob.” He became irritated when I reminded him that my name is Gina.
After precisely 60 minutes, he slipped the waitress his credit card. I noticed his signature and asked for a closer look. He allowed me to examine his handwriting while concealing the cardholder’s name with his finger.
After the date, I finally understood his concept of “extra time.” Mr. ET was prompt because he was on a strict schedule. He had to be a good time manager to balance his live-in girlfriend, his son, his girl on the side and any other additional women he’d collected.
There’s more to the story: A few weeks after our hour together, Mr. ET called me to make sure he had both my home and cell phone numbers. I couldn’t resist asking for his home number. He stuttered while telling me that his cell phone doubles as his home phone. I retaliated by saying that I was taught to be wary of men who don’t volunteer home numbers. He replied — and I kid you not — “That’s your trouble, Gina. You’re too suspicious.”
Despite his comment, he taught me to at least be suspicious of a guy who wants my extra time.
