The Magic of First Dates

First dates are a strange animal. Full of excitement. Full of the unknown. And potentially full of angst, levity, disgust, embarrassment, mania or even the desire to possess secret vanishing powers.

My first date since I was married was with Mac.  It was a rollercoaster ride of an evening. I was still living under the same roof (just closer to the roof in the attic, as it was...) and I had to tell Lars I was going out with one of the girls. But one of the girls he barely knew and who I barely spent time with, s he wasn't so likely to bump into her and ask how the Pocketbook Demonstration went.  I am not sure why I felt like I had to sneak around. My lawyer had told me I was free to date my face off since he'd decided to file on his own after I dumped him (so he could tell everyone it was his idea.) and we were O-fficially separated.

Mac was too much for me. Too confident. Too self absorbed. Too much a player. I had been out of the game so long. I had no idea what the rules were. I had no date clothes. I didn't know any of the cool places people went on dates. But the first date was loads of fun and we'd had one or two more...in between last minute cancellations and blow offs and nonsense my just-recently-restarted heart did not need.  At one point he said that he could not date me because I was still Lars' "property," a notion that nearly made me vomit. And then a week later he was calling telling me how fabulous I was. His inconsideration eventually wore on my nerve endings and I stopped even thinking about him.

So of course since then he's asked our common friends constantly if he would be welcome to call me.

My first date with J. was romantic and fun and I felt like the Queen of Everything. We'd met for drinks initially - just as old friends - and decided we were attracted to each other. He did all the right things afterwards. Called the next day. Sent me flowers. Asked for an official date. By then I'd filled my closet with date clothes (mostly because I'd angsted myself to a size 0 and had no choice but to shop)  I wore a fabulous fuscia quilted pink pencil skirt and a black ballet top, fine black fishnets and knee high black heeled boots. We'd sat on a park bench in a beautiful historic square downtown, gone for drinks at a favorite bar, talked long into the night. Made plans for a second date.

We all know how that ended.

And then there was the supremely bad first date that was Casey. Bad jokes. Horrific breath. Uncommonly pathetic dining habits and dinner conversation.  I could not believe I'd wasted an outfit on him.  I would have pulled the fire alarm at the restaurant to get it to end if I could have gotten away with it. Feigned heart failure. Pretended to have amnesia. Anything to terminate the endless hours of sheer torture. 

That was over before it started.

And then there was Scott. Our first date was under the pretense of Let's Catch Up Over a Few Beers. But I treated it like a date. You never know when the tables will turn and it will become a date. The minute he reaches for your hand. The moment you notice how he's looking at you while you are talking.  The protective gestures and compliments that start to materialize. The instant you realize that you don't want the evening to end. For years.

And it had been just like that. And the second date was days later. And the third not long after. And soon, I could not remember when he wasn't in my life or what I was doing before.

I won't rehash the ending of that story.

This date would be a complete Wild Card. I am attracted to him but I know so little about him and he so little about me. Chemistry happens in an instant. What if there isn't any? What if it is only luke warm?  What if he is an ideal date? And if he is ideal, is my heart ready to race again?

But I open the door and there he is. And I can tell right away we are going to be just fine.