I couldn’t wait for date #2. I had to wait 10 loooooong days but, at least, it was scheduled in advance. I hate the wondering-if-there-will-be-another-date part. I think it’s always a common-sense business plan to schedule a follow up meeting and just plain old good manners, especially when the heart is on the line.
I thought of him often and agonized over an outfit. Every chance I got; I looked for a new dress. Unfortunately, I didn’t find one that was fun, flirty and fitting for the “BEST 2ND DATE EVER” which, I assumed, we’d have…
In the middle of our 10-day hiatus, he called. That’s so much better than texting. You just can’t always rely on the vibe of the text. I liked talking to him and he continued to be funny and charming. Good signs. We had to change our date night to a day earlier. Worked for me. Maybe I would see him both nights, I thought.
On the day of our date, I left work early because I knew how long it would take me to get ready and I wasn’t entirely convinced of my outfit. It looked great last summer but this year, with a few extra pounds, I just wasn’t sure. Besides, it was the best option I had. Plus, I had a pair of Spanx with my name written all over them.
He texted me when I got home to ask me to meet him earlier. I panicked. There was no way I could shower, dress for “BEST 2ND DATE EVER” and get there significantly early. I told him I’d try and I did, but my outfit, shoes and jewelry did not want to cooperate. I ended up being 10 minutes late. I’m sure he was annoyed.
The parking lot was full except for a non-spot in the furthest corner of the lot. I took it. It was either that or valet. I have spent enough money on parking tickets, tows and every other parking related hassle over the last 10 years to last a lifetime. I do not valet. (Of course, I get irritated when a guy refuses to valet and would rather drive around looking for a spot, like me. I’m full of double standards. C’est la vie.)
He was standing in the back of the restaurant talking on the phone. He looked annoyed. I rushed in. My towering heels weren’t as comfortable as they were the first night. I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as he continued his conversation and walked directly to the bar.
When he finally came in, the conversation started a little slower. He asked if I minded sitting at the bar, I did mind but, not terribly, and I was late, so I said it was fine. Things picked up by the time I gulped my martini. He was having a little trouble at work. There were back-to-back meetings that weren’t going as well as he planned. I could tell he was under some stress. He asked me if I trusted him. To which I replied, “of course.” He ordered us dinner and wine. I liked that. I have a tendency to choose the worst thing on the menu.
The food was amazing. We were having a little more fun in the conversation but I think the drinks may have hit him faster than they hit me. Or, it could have been that he was 3 cocktails ahead of me. (He got to the restaurant 40 minutes before me. My bad.) All of a sudden, he seemed to have arms everywhere, including a hand up my dress. (Thank God, I chose to fore-go the Spanx! Could you imagine? If you know me well, of course you could.)
Now, I am no prude but I am very particular about making a scene in public. A man’s arm up a woman’s skirt at a semi-busy bar is a scene in public. And, I was part of it. My eyes lit up, round like saucers. It really took me by surprise and I didn’t like it.
I have to regress for a minute to explain the extent of my discomfort of public scenes. I was at a friend’s wedding years ago. She married an Asian guy and had sushi with the most beautiful green butter on the side. I had never eaten sushi before and I wanted to give it a try. I loaded on the green stuff because everything tastes better with more toppings. (I was heavier then…) Well, as you have already guessed, it was wasabi. The second it all went in my mouth, my eyes started watering and my throat felt like it was slowly closing. I had two choices, either put my arms up and let someone know I was choking or die quietly. I choose the latter. Clearly, I didn’t die (Had I been caught with the Spanx, I would have wanted to die!) but I did remain calm, flushed water down my throat via straw, and tried to eat a little bread. I. Do. Not. Make. A. Scene. In. Public.
Heavy PDA at a bar is public. The only time that is okay is if I’m drunk. Then, I throw caution to the wind and play kissy face until the cows come home. Been there, done that, not ashamed to say it. However, I wasn’t drunk. I was mortified.
I pushed away his advances, playfully, of course, because A) I liked him and B) I’m eternally polite. I asked him about our first date and reminded him how romantic he was with what he wrote on the wine cork. He grabbed our wine cork and wrote, “CONSERVATIVE PRUDE.” Not nice. He was kidding, but it still wasn’t nice.
Can I just tell you? I think I was so excited that he might be my soul mate that I lost myself. He walked me out to my car and the kissing proceeded. It was a little easier to kiss him there but, it was late and I had to work in the morning. We were the last 2 cars in the parking lot. We said our good byes. I don’t think he held the car door that time. I got in and slowly inched out of my pretend parking spot. Well, he was waiting for me at the front of the building. He got in and kissed me some more. Truth be told, he wasn’t a bad kisser and I do like him but, it was a little overkill.
Date #3 was scheduled for the next night. I didn’t want to go, not because I didn’t want to see him but, I still had to pack and knew I wasn’t going to get much sleep. (I was scheduled to travel for work the next day.) Luck was on my side, his meetings ran late and he had to cancel. Phew. I expected him to text me that weekend or call. Nothing.
I may need to re-visit Betty, after all.