There is no way to prepare someone for entering the dating world after being out of it for a decade. Seriously. None. And nothing you say can convince me that there is an easy way to navigate this mess. Which is probably why I’m considering throwing in the towel after only three dates. I just don’t know if I have the stomach (or the sense of humor!) for it. Don’t believe me? Allow me to explain…
The first date could have gone well if we had only had the originally planned ice cream date. See, the thinking was that if it was bad, you were only out the time it took to eat a bowl of ice cream, and not an entire meal. Let’s just say I should have left after ice cream. But he was very polite and handsome. Which was why I agreed to go to dinner from there. In the words of Pretty Woman: Big mistake. Big. Huge. Without spiraling into why this may have been the worst first date ever, let’s just say he had little clue what was actually appropriate first date behavior. This is the part where I will add this fantastically helpful tip: If you have to, at ANY point, tell your date that you are carrying a knife and pepper spray IN YOUR POCKET…just freaking walk away. And never look back.
The second date was wonderful. I mean that. He was a gentleman. Funny. Polite. I truly liked him! It was me who was the Frankenstein of First Dates that time. I botched basically every single part of it. First of all, by picking sushi for the restaurant, which he’d barely eaten. I ordered some Yaki Soba in case he didn’t like the sushi. Good plan right? Because who can go wrong with chicken, noodles, and veggies right??? Cayce. Cayce can go wrong with chicken, noodles, and veggies. Turns out, they put mushrooms in Yaki Soba. Guess what Cayce’s wonderful date hates with passion. Mushrooms. Surprisingly, he didn’t make a big deal out of it. He just quietly slid each mushroom aside – never even drew attention to it. Very cute. But let’s get back to the list of what I did wrong. Let’s see….there was the typical little Florida shower while walking into Starbucks for coffee after dinner, resulting in my hair tripling in size. By the end of coffee, he could have said he went on a date with me AND my hair. Or when my uber adorable wedge sandals tried to kill me on the wet sidewalk when we were leaving, and I almost took he and I to the ground in one embarrassing pile. Oh yes….let me count the ways I screwed that up. Oye to the vey.
The third date was polite. Mostly. And he was intelligent, which he knew. I enjoy an intelligent conversation, but I tend to lose interest when all we talk about is how intelligent he is. Until of course this date found a mushroom in HIS food. He had ordered his Italian meal with no mushrooms because, in an ironic little twist, he also hates mushrooms. What are the freaking odds, right?! Anyway, back to the mushroom. It was tiny. Smaller than my pinky nail. But sweet baby cheese toast, you’d have thought it was the size of the garlic bread. He literally huffed and puffed, and made a theatrical production about this sliver of mushroom. After that, I was just thrilled that the movie we were going to meant he couldn’t talk about himself anymore.
Why am I regaling you with the details of my horrible re-entry into dating? Probably so that if you see me at Publix buying dark chocolates and strawberry cheesecake ice cream, you won’t judge me. Instead you’ll smile and nod, and be glad you aren’t dating anymore. And if you are dating again, and we pass each other in Publix with our chocolates and ice cream, you’ll politely let me know that I forgot my Redi Whip.