I know today is supposed to be part two of pieces of wisdom, but I went on my date last night and wanted to tell you about it. Hey, it's my blog.
Here I am on my date. Don't I look just like baked brie and crispy butterflies? I know. I was beggin for a migraine, getting baked brie. Also, why can't I lose the weight?
The last time I got ready for a date was 1996, whether you count Marvin or not. I met Marvin when I was dating someone else, although I was in an open relationship. That was my idea, the open relationship part, and who knew it'd work to my advantage?
So I did not wear black tights and a huge blazer as I would have in 1996, but it felt sort of 1996-y getting ready. I wonder if I could say "1996" more often in this post?
Anyway, I walked in and there he was and after feeling horrified for about a minute and a half, it was just fine. He's way cool! We talked for almost three hours and I had no idea that much time was passing.
Naturally I yakked about my dogs, because I should not get started on that topic, and we talked about our families and why people in the South think it's okay to lead off with, "What church do you go to?" and our jobs and hypochondria (mine) and optimism and pessimism and pictures of people you don't know (really that was more my topic) and our exes and why cats like allergic people (he's allergic to cats) (I KNOW) and Los Angeles and crazy people on Match.com and why someone would name himself 80inchbrotha on Match.com (he has emailed me several times, 80inchbrotha. You will be shocked to hear I have not corresponded with him, as I am not Catherine the Great) and migraines (we both get them) and Angelina Jolie.
I guess in retrospect I can see how three hours passed. Also, the guy next to us was eating and sucking his fingers and you have no idea how much I wanted to go over there and slap him with my brie.
And my bra straps kept falling out my shirt the entire time. You GUYS. WHY can't I keep my bra straps up? What is WRONG with me? And yes, they ARE tightened. I am deformed.
Finally, it was late and I had to get home, as I knew Edsel would be berserk at being left alone all day and then for several hours in the evening, and indeed he was beside himself and is going to day care today to get his wiggles out before I behead him along with that finger-sucking guy.
We walked to my car, which was right there on the street with plenty of other people around, get over it, and made plans to see each other again. "Thanks for not murdering me!" I said, as I left.
So. Success! It was an excellent forage back into dating world. Much better than my last forage in 1980 when some guy in high school took me to a kegger and tried to go up my shirt.
Hi, mom.
P.S. "1996."
