With a few exceptions, first dates are easy. They're like a gondola ride. Italy. Sunny skies. Canals. They can be light and care-free. You meet for coffee or a drink...you talk about your work, where you were born, movies you saw, restaurants you like, places to which you traveled. You flirt a little, laugh a little, lean in, chin in your palm and drink in his stories. To me, it's about learning who the person is so I can figure out my own level of interest. Do I want to spend more time with him? Can I see myself kissing him? If I get an "Ewwweee" that's probably it for this one. If I get a "Hm...maybe" there's a chance we go forward to Date #2.
I like to take bathroom breaks on first dates--especially if they go over 2 hours. I feel I get too sucked into that space between us--that little round table that separates us, balancing our drinks...or that little triangle of elbow space at the bar. The walk to the ladies room is a good way to get rid of any hooks, clear my mind (empty an alcohol filed bladder), and come back refreshed to my date.
The other night I went out on a first date. We met at a colorful Cuban restaurant. The walls were painted orange and deep red, the tables purple with thick lacquered coating. I sipped on my Mojito through a much too narrow straw, flirted a bit, went to the restrooms, came back, had a second Mojito. I looked again. He was tall. Some would call him handsome. He was smart and while chemistry was not immediately noticeable, it grew sweetly as the live band came on and the Mojitos enjoyed a double shot of Rum.
When he got up to go to the men's room I snuck a peek. He was a little too thin for my taste but that was okay. He wore wool pants that made him look much too old, their rise too high for his slim figure, but it was almost endearing. There was something warm about his face and for a moment, I could see myself kissing him. Hm. Maybe.
About an hour plus into our time together and just after we had ordered our third Mojito...or was it the fourth? I can't remember, my date put his palms down on the table and said "let me answer that with full disclosure."
I don't remember what my question was. It doesn't really matter. I only remember he said something like this:
I was married before.
I have 3 kids.
Two girls and a boy. They're 4, 6, and 8.
My wife and I separated about 3 years ago.
A year later she committed suicide.
I was all of a sudden yanked out of my gondola, the music became a treble-laden screech. I was dropped in unknown territory, darkness all around me. I could hear my mind announcing it was recalculating route.
I don't mind the marriage or the children or the wife. (Dead wife.) I don't mind that he has had a wedding or that he has already experienced the birth of his children. I minded that as soon as the cat was out, our conversation quickly turned to kids and school and parents meetings. I became a neighbor; a friend. And I didn't mind that either--but I minded not being able to choose. I stayed seated and listened to the ticking lull of a routine which wrapped our table like a blanket. I felt I was on the outside looking in--an alternate path I could take or maybe I did. Just for a bit. I resented myself for not giving this an equal chance. But no. I knew where I wanted to go and this wasn't it. After four hours of thorough appreciation of all that this day trip brought to me, it was time to head back to the mainland and look again at that itinerary. Where was it we were going today? Oh yes. I remember now. (So easily distracted by tall young men, it seems.) I put gas in my car and headed back home. Not today, my dear.
Yours truly,
Datingirl
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