One Down, More to Come?

This date is wonderful.

I have on The Best outfit ever, thanks to some expert fashion advice from Hil. Rich and Skinny jeans, black with a subtle gdark gray and silver snake print. They look like they were made for me.

Black, drapey, open-weave sweater with the perfect neckline. Shows a lot of collarbone but only hints at cleavage. The black camisole takes care of that. 

Outstanding jewelry.

New matching bra and panties. Nothing like a fabulous foundation to boost a girls confidence. And boost the girls as well.

The shoes were the hardest decision. I chose a pair of black heeled booties that would not interfere with the narrow cuffs of the skinny cut of the pants. I had considered some very pointy calf high boots but Hil had said they looked like I could hurt someone with them. Probably not a good idea to wear a pair of shoes that inspires a man to imagine being kicked in the crotch with them. At least on the first date.

We head out to a local pub to finally get to know each other a little better. We start with some basic foundational information.  We ask about kids and jobs and family pecking order and people we have in common and things we've discussed recently.  Fill in the background. Add to the foreground. I no longer feel like I am out with a complete stranger. A complete stranger who knows more about my breakup with Scott than he does about me.

And then the fun begins. Two drinks in we decide to head to a local microbrewery with an eclectic staff and hipster vibe. 

And I can't remember ever being more at ease so soon on a first date.  We laugh. We ask questions. We listen to answers. We laugh some more. We share a lot of information about ourselves in little stories and tales from our lives. We share a sandwich.  We share a few laughs that will become inside jokes we'll be laughing about for years to come.

It feels like a years to come kind of thing.

Pace yourself, Liza. It's a first date.