After two back-to-back long-term relationships, I’m semi-sorta-single. Single in the technical sense, but “dating,” if that’s what we call it those days. In the beginning, I wanted little to do with my ex. I wanted to just cleanly cut ties. That’s not how it’s ended up, but that’s a completely different story. Instead we’ll talk about my attempts at dating after not being in the game in a long time. Here goes:
It’s my third date with someone completely different than the guys I normally go for, which is something I suspect is probably good. I’m not one to follow rules or conventions when it comes to how long one should wait to have sex or any of that, but I do have my own somewhat arbitrary rules. Namely, I’m totally down with one-night stands and NSA sex, but if it’s a dating situation and I think there’s even the minute potential for it to become something more, I prefer to wait a bit.
I show up in a short blue dress and little heels even though it’s winter and therefore cold. Though it’s technically a third date and we’ve already done the requisite awkward make-out session, I feel like this is the first proper “date” date. And it’s been a long time since I’ve been on one of those so I want to make it special. This means dressing up.
The date proceeds nicely. We walk to an Italian restaurant where I order the wine. I realize it’s probably been three years since I was on such a proper date. We’re talking pulling out the chair for the table and refusing to allow me to even pay the tip. For a self-proclaimed feminist with a penchant for underemployed boyfriends, this feels a little weird but nice. I’m digging it.
We wind up back at his apartment where begin watching a movie. Of course, as these things usually do, that just leads to romping around in the bedroom. But not THAT. I really am trying to be good this time and despite the increasingly strong desire to throw caution to the wind and just do it, I manage to keep my teenage boy hormones in check.
Despite professing that I’ve been having wicked insomnia all week and won’t sleep, I let him convince me to stay the night even though he needed to get up early to go catch a train. Hey – sometimes sleeping alone is lonely.
In the morning we drink coffee and I get ready to leave just as he is about to hop in the shower. I make what I hope is a graceful if somewhat sheepish departure and get outside the building, where I realize my car is gone from the spot where I’d left it. Having had no intention of spending the night, I’d ignored the no parking from 4 a.m. to 6 a.m. sign. When my gentleman friend informed me that he though the side of the street I was parked on was the correct side, I’d gone along with it. Well, unfortunately for me, he was wrong this time.
The car is gone.
I immediately go back in the building to ring the bell and pray I’ll catch my new friend before he’s immersed in showerland. I do and he comes back down to fetch a very sheepish me. I’m growing increasingly mortified as he sweetly makes some phone calls to track down my car while I sit on the couch and curse my luck.
He ends up having to drop me off at this garage at the southern end of town — which is not the town I live in — but unfortunately in order to catch his train he had to drop me off there 15 minutes before it opens. I’m still wearing the short blue dress, panty hose and heels from the night before and it’s now starting to snow.I huddle by the door in hopes that maybe, just maybe they will open early today.
No. That’s not going to happen this time. Instead, they open 10 minutes late and I immediately thrust my inappropriately-clad self into the tiny waiting room and share my plight. Soon after, I’m directed to my car, thanking my lucky stars that this tow service guy is choosing not to stare or comment on my obvious night-before appearance.
I pay my large bill and get my car, happy to get the hell out of dodge.
Worst walk of shame of my life, not to mention the most expensive.
