The Date that Really Wasn't

Mr. Tall, Bald and Handsome, shows up, a little early, to find me all in a dither - gee, get our your shocked faces - my hair is sooo not behaving, the lipstick fell into the sink, my hands are shaking, and as we are going to an early movie, I’ve finally settled on jeans, a tee, and a sweater, tied jauntily round the shoulders. The knot of the sleves, hit right in the middle of the vee neck tee; thus calling attention to the girls that I wish were part spandex - this whole rolling them into a bra and hoping to hell they stay there just makes me feel old.

But, I digress. The doorbell rings, Foxy’s off like a shot, puppy barking madly behind him, while also simultaneously chasing her tail, and then? There he is. Overwhelmingly large in my wee condo - he takes up as much room as say, a tank, or a moose. Only, far more attractive, and well, as the moose comparison goes, far less smelly. He thows some balls with Fox, who is ecstatic, that someone other than Mommy is tossing around a ball (okay, so it helps that he can actual throw the ball, whereas I more…like….throw like a girl) and Pucker? Well, she may not be bright, but she has rather excellent taste in men. Or, so I thought.

The ride up to the theatre is rife with my little guy laughing, like he’s not laughed in a long time; I’m all misty eyed in the front, thinking rediculous things…like could this be it? Could this turn into something great? Foxy adores him, and he’s known him a nano-second, Pucker laid at his feet and begged him to touch her - slut! - (really, you never show the belly and pink parts til the 6th date!) - and me? I’m all smiles, and actually forgot about my hair.

Really. That’s saying something when a man can make you forget your hair looks as though you’ve combed it with a backhoe, and styled it with a nuclear weapon.

But at the theatre? I paid. For the tickets, the popcorn, the blue icy thing (blech) and the arcade….which makes me wonder, if he’s all Officer and a Gentlemen, where is the Gentlemanly Whipping Out Of The Wallet? Was I supposed to pay if Fox didn’t go? Sure, I’m kind of enlightened - if the date sucks, I’ll offer to split the check, but basically, it’s a general rule of thumb: he who invites, pays. She who accepts, does not.

So I’m miffed; slightly…..though, I am soaking up the Wonderful Mommy Points I was getting from Fox.

The lights dim, and the next thing I know, I’ve got two sets of hands holding mine (good dieting trick, no hand for the popcorn) and M is warm. And big. Solid. Strong. And well…..lovely to sit next to. With that to-die-for-voice thing going to, when he whispers something about the movie into my ear. Dreamy, really.

Foxy’s more sticky, and wet, needing napkins, and a little messy with the popcorn, but as this clearly isn’t a Real Date, it doesn’t really matter. Plus also? I’d never pass up an opportunity to hold hands with my little guy. He’s already getting way too close to the Girls Have Cooties Don’t Touch Me stage.

And, then, when the lights go up, and the screen goes dark, and we’re slipping out into the falling night, Fox pipes up and says, this is the bestest date he’s ever been on.

It’s the ONLY date he’s ever been on. But, I gather, that M doesn’t think so….from the look on his face, you’d have thought I separated some important life form from his body. Like the two little bags he carries his brain in. Honestly.

Fox falls asleep, when we get home, Pucker does her Touch Me! routine to the hilt, and he kissed me goodnight. He’s a good kisser. A really good kisser.

But.

I have to say.

This whole paying for everything, and then getting kissed goodnight? Feels like I bought it - and that sucks. No wonder men who pay for lobster think they’re getting laid - they’re buying the best thing on the menu, so shouldn’t they get to sample the best thing on your menu?

I cannot have my whole perspective of dating - and the world - be upended. No, that simply won’t do.

If he wants to see me again, then he’s going to have to pay for dinner, or drinks, or the movies - then, it’s not like it’s a Bought Pity Date; it’s a real one, where he invited me because he thinks I’m witty and fun, cute and adorable….with clearly outrageous hair.

By the way?

If he does ask me out again?

Don’t tell him - I don’t want his head to swell or anything - I think I might just say yes.

Movie Night At The Museum, Smithsomian

I went on a date.

With yet another M. Yes, I know; if you can’t get over the first M, get underneath another M.

Or, at least accept a movie date with hot hunk, who has made not so veiled comments about making out at the movies. Which I’ve never done. A rated R, grown up movie. With popcorn. And hand holding. And maybe? Some breath-catching kissing. So at least, should he be horrendous, I can mark off making out at the movies the list of things to do before I die. Easy peasy. Hire sitter, have enough food in the house for the Ravenous Beast to eat, top off all prep with a pre-date cocktail, just to be loose, witty, and not attacked by giant condors floating around in tummy.

Since this is ME, we’re talking about, it went rather not at all like we’d thought, and rather more like my life usually is - a mess. First, I have the day from hell, discovering that yet again, my ex is a tool, and would be less expensive to me dead, than alive. The dog needs a trip to the vet for some Icky Tummy that I rather wrote off as worms; and is not…is STAPH. The Not Good Kind…well, not, I suppose, that there IS a good kind of staph, but I was not in the mood to shell out more for meds than I did on the shoes I’d planned to wear.

Add insult to injury: the sitter bails, and none of my girlfriends are around (they would have taken him in a heartbeat, as everyone - and I do mean everyone) has been on my case to actually date Mr. Tall, Handsome, and Wears Several Uniforms (coast gaurd and fire department: yummy) so I do the only thing I can do at this point: cancel. Which he refuses to take as an answer; how bad could my day have been? Did I mention the voice that melts ice caps from 30,000 miles away? Or how he’s taken to calling me Babe, just to undo me totally? His answer? We’ll just take my little guy, with us, and change our movie selection…what did I think of the new Night at the Museum flick? Would he like that? M says he was indeed, a history major in both college and as a masters (seriously?) so he’d love to see that too. Can they play in the arcade first? Eat popcorn and drink soda til they puke?

After I burst into unladylike tears (complete with sniffling and snorting, red rimmed eyes, and a rather ugly puffiness that no amount of ice could cure) I tell him I’m not sure that’s such a good idea…afterall, I am sporting hair that makes Medusa look well-groomed. Along with the aforementioned facial issues, and a gassy dog who took the leather off the doorjambs of the car on the way home from the vet.

Foxy hears the entire exchange, (the movie part at least) and leaps at the chance to go. He’ll be on his “bestest behavoirs”, he swears, and this time? he’ll share the popcorn. Honest mama.

Okay. Adult movie out, kid flick in.

There is something very touching about a man who without batting an eye invites a child he’s never known on a date with his mom.

Not sure where we’re going next; but I will say this - he can take us to the movies anytime.

He’s a fabulous kisser too, should anyone be wondering (yes, I know, everyone is wondering!!) - maybe next time, he’ll really sweep me off my feet….he’ll show up in uniform.