It’s been decided: I will ask GreatDane51 out on a date.
I will ask GreatDane51 out on a date.
Ugh. No matter how many times I say it, it still sounds like an awful idea.
What was I thinking when I agreed to this? I actually volunteered, didn’t I?
Crap, no I did not! Becky fooled me. Becky and her Jedi-mom tricks.
She knows I don’t ask guys out. They ask me. I’ve only asked one guy out on a date in my entire life, and I use the term “ask out” loosely, because I actually won him in a dorm fundraising auction in college. Instead of having him take me somewhere nice like all the other co-eds, I forced the poor kid to hand wash my dirty Bronco in the university’s parking lot because I was too scared to let him take me out.
Becky still brings it up anytime her car, or mine, needs to get washed. “Hey, remember that time you bought that guy and made him clean your car…” she’ll say. Ugh, yes. Yes I do, thank you very much. It was not my finest moment.
My narrowed gaze lands on a photo of Becky, in an elegant gold frame, sitting on my entertainment center, looking all innocent and sweet.
I scowl at her as I pop open my laptop, rest it on my legs, and prop my fuzzy socks on the coffee table. Nearby is a glass of red wine, which I promptly take a sip of.
Okay, two sips.
Three.
I take five sips and wipe my hands on the blanket spread across my knees, give my knuckles a little shake to loosen them up, and begin composing a message to GreatDane51.
Dear GreatDane51, Hello stranger… Please tell me I’m not the only one going on a string of bad first dates. Please. I beg you. Sigh. While I would love to say I’ve connected with at least one match, sadly, it has been nothing but disappointment after disappointment. I’m telling you this for several reasons: One, I’m hoping you will take pity on me, and two, that you will take pity on me. Let me give you an example, and you can decide for yourself. Harvard; clean cut and distinguishing, this particular “gentleman” proceeded to show me party pictures during our date. You wouldn’t really think that was a big deal, but these were bare chested and he was engaging in cough some questionable activities… We wouldn’t have worked out anyway, because when I thanked the waitress during our date, his response was, “Don’t thank her. She’s just doing her job.” I was so embarrassed.
I conveniently leave out the fact that I went home with Harvard that night and tried unsuccessfully to bang him. Whatever, hardly a relevant detail…
Considering that was one of my better dates, it always has me coming back to you. I know you’re busy. In your last message you mentioned all the travel you’ve been doing lately. But, I made a commitment to my friend Becky—remember her?—that I would ask you out on a date….
I delete that part. Shoot. No guy wants to hear that I was coerced into asking them out on a date.
I start that part over.
But, I made a commitment to myself that I would finally muster the courage to get a little more personal with you. And what better way to do that than in person?
I smile now, on a roll, and continue. But first, another sip of wine.
Or three.
I know you live in my general area, and that we share a lot of the same interests. The outdoors, architecture, reading, and barbeque. And speaking of barbeque, I have a company function coming up next weekend. The 8th. It’s an annual event, and this year it’s going to be outside. Nothing fancy. Casual. I actually think it would be a great way for us to meet, surrounded by people. You know, just in case you turn out to be a serial killer. Or I turn out to be a serial killer… You would never see me coming. Haha. Shoot. That was probably really inappropriate, huh? What do you say, GreatDane51? Would you like to accompany me next weekend? –NinaHas9Lives
Satisfied, I hit SEND, and the letter whizzes off into cyberspace.
I stretch, add some more wine to the glass, and tip my head back to rest my eyes. Just for a minute. Until he writes back.
And he will.
Because even though GreatDane51 hasn’t officially asked me on a date yet, I’ve noticed a few things about him: he’s consistent and always gets back to me quickly. Some people might find that desperate, but I find it refreshing in a world where people so easily disregard feelings. His eager responses make me feel… tingly and wanted.
Another thing I’ve noticed is his ruggedness. Based on some more detailed profile descriptions, and the fact we haven’t shared pictures yet , because eSoulmates focuses on the emotional connection before the physical, he likes to be outside. Fishing, hunting and exploring. Shit. I hope when we do finally meet in person, he doesn’t want to go hiking or anything like that, because I’m a liar who hates to be outside. And I just freaking told him I love the outdoors. Ugh, damn this delicious, grapey wine and its persuasive powers.
Eyes still closed, I take another sip.
This waiting sucks. I crack an eyelid open and check the time on the microwave.
Six whole minutes?
Well, maybe I can rest a bit while I wait…
Tap. Tap. Tap, tap, tap.
I raise my head from the back of the couch and shield my eyes from the blaring sun.
Did I fall asleep on the couch last night, and… what the hell is that tapping sound? I squint, lowering my hand a bit, and see a small grey bird pecking at my living room window, his tiny beak trying to break into my house.
The wine bottle catches my eye then, and I note with dread that a bottle that was full when I started is now half empty. This might not seem like a lot of wine to most people, but I’m a lightweight. All it takes is one glass to get me going…
Tap. Tap, tap.
“Go away, tiny bird!” I shout and flop my head back down on the sofa, stifling my groan with a throw pillow. Or maybe I should throw the pillow at the damn bird.
My laptop sits open on the coffee table in front of me, still glowing, my rotating photo gallery screensaver illuminated in front of me. Curious, I lean forward, swiping my finger over the mouse pad, and my laptop buzzes to life.
I have two new messages in my inbox, and they’re both from GreatDane51. The first one reads:
NinaHas9Lives. You’re right, I have been busy, but that’s not really an excuse, is it? Not today, when everyone is connected. Which actually drives me nuts. Everywhere you look, people are on their phones. This past week I was in Pittsburg meeting a new supplier for our company, then flew to New Orleans to visit with my sister, Beth.
Anyway, knowing you like I think I do, you probably want me to cut to the chase—your company event. I would love to attend, but I have an outing that same day that I cannot miss. I’m really sorry. But now that we’re talking about dates, we’re probably long overdue to meet in person. How does next Friday sound?
I start to reply, but another email catches my attention. Mine. Me. One from me, to him, in reply to the one I just read.
Holy. Mother. Of… No. This isn’t happening.
My eyes scan the monitor, glowing before me, bright and light and cheerful, mocking my hungover, wine-induced haze.
I stare. I glare.
I wince.
I replied. Last night, to this wonderful, caring message. Only my message… I cover my eyes with my hands—both of them—and peek through my fingertips like a petulant child to read the paragraph in front of me.
Dear GreatDane51, FINALLY! Holy shit, I never thought you’d ask. Becky told me to grow a pair of balls and ask you out myself. Well, she didn’t use those exact words, but I know that’s what she meant. She can be SUCH a pain in my ass sometimes. Did I type ass? I meant butt. Sorry for swearing. I should delete that, but I can’t find the right button. Where did it go?! I love Becky. And Jeremiah. He’s such a good husband. They’re trying so, so hard to make it werk. Whoops. Work. I almost made a joke right there about “hard,” but I didn’t. I stopped myselef. Ops. Myself. Shoot. I meant ‘oops’ not ops. I should go to bed. I’m so excited about our date! I have to go text Becky. She’s going to be SO EXCITED! I love her! <3
Oh.
My.
God.
I think I just gave myself a heart attack.
Shit, shit, shit. I wrote this when I was drunk. Before I passed out from two glasses of wine. I pick up my phone and check my text messages: five. I sent five messages to Becky, none of which she’s responded to yet. She is going to die. Die of laughter when she hears this doozy.
GreatDane51’s email reply lingers in front of me, and with dread, I open it. I can’t look. Can’t do it. Horrified doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel right now.
NinaHas9Lives, that was the most enthusiastic response I’ve ever received from a woman, and I’m guessing you’re so excited by the thought of seeing me that you couldn’t contain yourself. Or you’re out with friends enjoying a glass of wine. Martini? Cosmo? What’s your drink of choice? I’ll have it waiting for you on Friday.
My back hits the back of my couch with a thump as a breath of relief leaves my lips with a whoosh.
Damn Becky and her Jedi-mom tricks.
I blame her for this.