A Date to Remember

Yesterday I spent some time with the girls. And, as sometimes happens during visits with the girls, the conversation turned to the topic of men (and I assume the reverse occurs when the guys get together). On the way home I began thinking of my many years of dating. I have had more first dates than I can count; first dates that never made it to the second. More often than not, that decision was mutual. Sometimes I had to go out a second time to just make sure my decision not go out again was correct. It couldn't have been that bad; could it?

There were laughable dates; scary dates; argumentative dates; boring dates; surreal dates; blind dates; short dates; and dates they seemed to last a week. I've been embarrassed, enraged, dumbfounded and just plain angry.

There have been the low talkers, the bad dancers, the sloppy eaters, the socially inept and the ego-maniacal. Understand that there have also been some wonderful men and great relationships; but that's not the topic of discussion when the girls get together. Somehow if we talk about those infamous liaisons we can justify that time spent in pursuit of romance and companionship. The good guys then seem that much better.

I have had my share of "cheap dates." I once had a date who took a change purse out of his suit pocket to tip the bartender after our pre-dinner cocktails. Another man, exited off the expressway into a rather unruly part of town, just to avoid the toll booth. Then there was the guy who actually took me to a function that he was not invited to nor did he know any of the attendees. I became suspicious after half a dozen people ask me how I was associated with the organization.

I was dining with a man who actually fell asleep in his plate; and another who nodded off in mid-sentence with a glass of wine in his hand. My first reaction was that they were ill, but they said no. I once left a table to "powder my nose" and ran into someone I knew. When I returned to the table, my date was gone and the waiter informed me he was getting the car. I met him at the valet stand to find that he thought I had taken too long so he decided to end the date. I wasn't gone that long (or was I?). It was a very quiet drive home.

And there was an extremely wealthy man, whose driver joined us in the club. My date asked if I wanted to dance. I said "of course" and he told his driver to dance with me. The driver was a great dancer and I spent a good deal of my "date" with him. I was then asked if I could cook breakfast. I took a cab home.

I've been taken to great restaurants; seedy little bars; wonderful concerts; and bad movies. I've dined; I've picnicked; I've sailed; I've clubbed; I've shopped; and I have hidden under a table while guns were drawn.

One man became quite amorous at the end of the date. As he leaned in to kiss me, he became ill and threw up on the ground next to my feet. I couldn't help myself: I launched into my best Roseann Roseanadana voice and asked "am I makin' ya sick or what." Needless to say, I never saw him again either. It must have been the beurre blanc sauce we had at dinner.

My last date ended in a rather robust debate over politics. Did he call you? Because he hasn't called me either.