table for two.

May 27, 2010

I had a date last night.

Let me be the first to say that dating sucks.  It REALLY really sucks.

There’s all this pressure to pick out a cute outfit, there’s the awkward greeting (do you hug?) then there’s the awkwardness of who’s going to pay, then there’s the awkward goodbye (do you give him a quick kiss?  or does the situation call for a heavy duty make out?).  For this reason, I secretly envy my married friends for being free of this clumsy dance.

So last night I wore my quintessential “I look hot but I’m not trying too hard” date night outfit – cute black top, white skirt, black flats and met him at the bar.  I was there before him (damnit!), so I plopped myself down on a bar-stool, ordered a beer, and hoped it would give me courage.  He showed up and I immediately got butterflies.  He cleaned himself up for the evening and was looking ridiculously adorable clean shaven and polo-shirted.

The conversation was good (although I admittedly become less and less articulate with the more beers I consume).  He paid.  We left the bar and went to a diner for some late night food and more (drunken/sleepy) conversation.

At around 1am he dropped me off back at my car, and feeling brazen and unable to resist the crooked smile, I grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him towards me.  Let it be known: I will melt for any man that bites my bottom lip. (sigh).

So I went home, did a slight celebration dance alone in my room.  And now, the next morning, I’m doing the “omigod, does he like me? will he call again?” obsessed freak out.

See?  Even when it’s good, dating is bad.

Think he will call?

Q

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