Worst Date **Ever**

My worst date ever actually started three days early.

I used to work at a local grocery store back in Texas, and one of the managers in-training took a liking to me. A was sweet, short, but cute and sexy in a way. I was used to teddy bear type men or long lanky dudes. A was neither and quite interested in me.
My birthday fell mid-week and I finally decided to accept A's invitation to go out.

Except he turned me down. See, A was Muslim, and Ramadan happened to fall in January that year.

Ramadan is the Muslim holy month. They cannot eat certain foods between dawn & sunset, and they have to give up something they truly like, sort of Lent-ish that way.
A's sacrifice was women. No dating, no sex, period.

He didn't tell me this right away. My older brother is Muslim. I understood Ramadan and how important it is to adherents. My brother gave up swearing and fried chicken. The man is made of steel, I swear.
Anyway, A finally told me when I confronted him one night. I felt like such a harpy that I just walked away. I couldn't even open my mouth to apologize, I was so mortified.

The next night, A approached me. I was busy checking out a customer so running was out of the question. I seriously considered hiding under my register for a minute or three. But I'm 5'1 and those things are heavy. And bolted down, darn the luck.
When my line was empty, A smiled.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Ramadan. I didn't think you would understand."
"Don't assume facts not in evidence," I muttered back, desperately hoping someone with 80 items would step into my express line.
"Well, it'll be over Friday, so do you want to go out Saturday night?"
PING
"That'll be fine," I answered calmly. Bells of salvation rang so loudly in my head I was sure he could hear them.
We arranged for me to meet him at work, and then I would follow him to his apartment to park my car. Then, we would be off to dinner at one of my favorite places: TGI Friday's.

From there it wasn't so bad. We talked, we laughed, and we drank. He told me about his village back in Nigeria, and I told him about my sister, my mom, and my kids. When the menus came, he ordered beef. Raised in the South, I am, and proud of it.
So, what do I order, sitting across from a Muslim so devout he consciously went without female companionship for a whole month?

The pork chops.
He didn't bat an eye, and neither did I. We kept chatting, and our waitress refilled our drinks. It wasn't until the food arrived that I realized my massive faux pas.

Muslims don't eat pork. It is expressly forbidden to do so in the Holy Quran.
I knew this, I really did. My brother gave up sausage and gravy biscuits, bacon, and hot links when he converted.

I looked across my plate at A. He looked back at me.

"Everything OK?" our bouncy waitress asked, most cheerfully.

For a split second, I thought about sending the chops back.
Then, it hit me: He knows I'm not Muslim. Why should I give up the chops?
My Shoulder Angel whispered things like respect and consideration in my ear.

I stopped listening because my empty stomach growled so loud I couldn't hear the little Angel anymore.
So I ate my dinner.

A didn't ask me out again. And honestly, I really can't blame him.
Considering the brusque treatment I received from him after our date, I'm very glad I didn't send the chops back.