That Time I Found Out I Might Be Going To Hell
So last night I had a date. From the beginning I wasn’t very thrilled to be going on said date, but my friends keep setting me up with people because they are convinced that I am going to become an old spinster with 87 cats, so every once in a while I have to cave in and go out with someone just to get them off my back. Now what they don’t know is that I am seeing several people, I just don’t tell them about it bc they get all girly and mushy and want to know a million details. Then I have to watch their shocked faces as their brains try and process what I just said, because IT SIMPLY CANNOT BE TRUE.
Like the time I told my best friend that I was dating three guys, loving it, and had no intention of having a long term relationship with any of them (they all knew about each other). “Wha…what?” She managed to stammer out. “Why would you do that to yourself!?” “Are you kidding?” I replied. “This is great!! I can have one over, mess around, and then I don’t have to let him hang around and watch a movie, bc he’s not my boyfriend! Or, I can have one over to watch a movie, and then I don’t have to mess around with him because he’s not my boyfriend! This is a win-win situation sister!” I thought I was going to need to revive her. (Please see also: to save face anonymously in internet land, I would just like the record to state, I did not sleep with any of them, I am sort of a really promiscuous good girl.)
But anyways, back to the original topic. So, the date. The plan was to meet at 8pm at the bar across the street from my house. For several days leading up to the date, he was sending me, what I would assume were intended to be, sweet text messages. They were about how he was excited to meet me and excited for our date. Problem was, there were just too many of them. It sort of crossed the line from flattering to possibly desperate. So its 7:40pm, I’m laying on my bed eating recess peanut butter cups and chicken nuggets, and I’m still dressed like this.
The babysitter shows up and starts asking me about my date. The conversation goes like this.
Her: “So are you excited for your date?”
Me: “No. Does it look like I’m excited? I’m still wearing the pajama pants that I got in sixth grade.”
Her: “Why not? Isn’t he cute?”
Me: “He’s not bad. Kinda hard to tell if he is ‘I want to nail you to a wall’ material, but he is definitely ‘I can be seen in public with you material.’ (Please also let the record state that I am not actually that mean, I just never miss an opportunity for a good joke.) Plus, there are all these text messages that I know are supposed to be sweet, but its so much that I’m kind of wondering if he is either a creepy clinger or a total dweeb. Like maybe he is cute, sweet, and a total dweeb face.”
Just then I get a text message asking me if I am there yet. “Um….almost there….” Which in woman speak means “I am about to start getting ready.” So its now 7:51 pm, I run upstairs, pull on some jeans, pull a sweater over the tank top I’m already wearing, and go running out the door. The babysitter tells me to have fun with dweeb face and I reply that I’m a horrible person and surely going to hell, but I might be back in five minutes.
It takes me exactly 43 seconds to drive to the bar. The lot is pretty full so I squeeze into the only open spot, next to a guy leaning against his car. I get out, lock my door, and literally run face first into car guy’s chest. “Do you need a ride somewhere?” he asks. “Wha…what…wait. Didn’t you just see…because I just got….because I just was…you know what, never mind. No, I’m good, thanks.” “Alright,” he says, “but I’ll be right here if you change your mind.” “Oh, ok, on second thought, I think I might take you up on that offer. I actually was driving somewhere, but I got tired of driving so I figured I would park here and just catch a ride the rest of the way. And I’ll tell ya what, I’ll even save you the trouble and just hop right into your trunk. Just let me just run to the quickie mart first and buy some duct tape. Anything else you need? Shovel? Did you bring your own or should I pick one up too?”
Wonderful. This night is off to a great start.
And then…I see him. Walking around the corner. I kid you not, my brain started singing “Down Under” from Men at Work. The line “6’4 and full of muscles” ran through my head so loud that for a minute I thought it was actually playing somewhere. This guy was hot. Not just hot, hot and huge. Like “I could climb you like a tree” kind of huge. I actually said out loud “You have got to fucking be kidding me,” as my brain scrambled to wonder if I could possibly make it the 43 seconds home, change my clothes, brush my hair, and race the 43 seconds back before he made it to the front door. I decided probably not and settled for a stick of gum. Dweeb face approaches, holds out his hand to shake mine, and says “Hi, (My name is not dweeb face) and I have really been looking forward to meeting you.” Aaaaaaaannnnndddddd, that’s when I see it.
He is wearing silly bandz. Those rubber stretchy bracelets shaped like animals. Three of them actually, in different shades of pink. Ok, so he is gay. Or a stoner. Either way, date over. But, because I am not a completely horrible person, I stay. We find a table, he shows me pictures of his dog wearing clothes, and I keep looking for the nearest exit. He tells me he loves camping and fishing, I tell him “Yea…I don’t really do….’outside.'” I’m already convinced that this is going to be one of those “high-five nights.” Do you know what I’m talking about? When you certainly aren’t kissing him goodnight, and you don’t even want to hug him, so when he leans in at the end of the date, you throw your hand up and yell “High five!” That’s never happened to anyone else? No? Just me? The waitress comes by and I ask her for anything fruity that has rum or vodka. She tells me about the house special, five kinds of rum, and one kind of vodka, and that I might fall off my chair. “Great!” I say, “I’ll take two!”
I ask him about his work, his family, all of the standard questions, and I realize he really is a sweet guy. I’m not sure he is for me, but he is sweet. Super nervous, but sweet. Eventually, somehow the topic becomes dividing household chores, and he offers to do all of the cooking. And because I am somewhat of a horrible person, I say “no problem, you do all of the cooking, and I will pick out your clothes.” “What!? He says. Pick out my clothes!?” “Oh, sorry,” I say. “Not your clothes. Your clothes are fine.” And because I still am the same horrible person, I say “What I meant to say, is that I will just pick out all of your jewelry.”
“Jewelry?” “I don’t wear jewelry” he says. My gaze shifts to his wrist. His gaze shifts to his wrist. “Oh my gosh!” He exclaims. “That was for a breast cancer awareness thing we did at work today. I didn’t even realize I still had them on.” Ok, so now its official, I am going to hell.
He excuses himself to go to the restroom, and as soon as he is gone another guy comes and sits down at our table. Great. Dweeb face comes back from the bathroom, and politely but firmly handles the situation. Ok, now I like him.
We order ice cream, I realize he is wicked smart, and he dares me to get up and dance in the middle of the bar, to which, I gladly oblige. I do the shopping cart, elvis hips, the sprinkler, the whole shebang. (Warning: don’t ever dare me to do something. Unless I’m talking to someone about being raped, I rarely get embarrassed.) We laugh, we talk, I karate chop the hell out of the silly bandz bracelets until they are no more, and eventually, I look at the clock. Four hours. Four hours dweeb face and I sat at that table. I tell him I need to be getting home, and he pays the tab. When we get outside I am pretty straightforward with him and tell him to avoid awkwardness I’m just going to be up front and say that I don’t kiss on the first date. He says he respects that, I give him a hug, and we leave.
I drive the 43 seconds home, and I get a text message. “I just wanted to let you know that I had an amazing time and I would love to see you again.”
Ok, so maybe dweeb face is a bit charming after all.
Photo Credit “Thumbs up”: http://www.flickr.com/photos/1000photosofnewyorkcity/
Photo Credit “Smiley face”: http://www.flickr.com/photos/sully_aka__wstera2/