Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:
After we’ve crossed that initial threshold of meeting, I often wonder which one of us will ask the other out. It’s fun to think about all the scenarios and how that could potentially play out. But one thing I’ve been thinking about a bit more lately? What if you’re my first everything?
Wow. Just writing that scares me a bit. Why? Because it’s setting the stage for the potential that our first date could actually be my first date. Ever. Not as in my first date with a guy who wears Hawaiian shirts like I wear polo shirts, or my first date with a guy who loves shopping as much as I do. No, no. I’m talking about my first date with a guy. A date most of my peers went on when they were dooey-eyed teens. I have this conversation that keeps playing in my head of us out to dinner on said first date (you can one day tell me how accurate it is…):
Me (as I try to casually scan the menu, all the while my heart is racing faster than a gambler betting on the Kentucky Derby): So…i’ve never done this before.
You: Eat here? Oh, the food is great.
Me: Oh no, I’ve eaten here too. A lot. I came here with my mother last week and the week before. I mean, I’ve come here with people other than my mother. Just not, umm, you know…
You: Oh, gotcha. I see you’re looking at the appetizers. So you’re an appetizer virgin, huh?
Me (quietly choking on my root beer): I suppose in a matter of speaking, yes.
You: Don’t worry; I’ll help you navigate this appetizer awesomeness.
Me: Alright, I’m just going to say it. i’ve never done this before. And by this, I mean (pointing wildly around) been on a date. This is my first date.
Do you see? Do you see how awkward of a situation this can be?
And the first kiss? I have these scenarios playing out in my head, all of which find me incredibly awkward when the big moment arrives. I’m getting lots of visions of the endings of Brat Pack classics and either Don’t You Forget About Me or In Your Eyes on repeat in my head. My eyes looking directly into yours (is that even where I’m supposed to look) and my knees shaking a little bit (a feat, actually, considering they’re surgically fused, and I’ll probably be sitting down for the big kiss). And then I awkwardly try to turn my head (again, I’m not too sure how that’s going to work because of my fused neck, but we’ll see how it goes).
I’m sure that none of this is going to be how I picture it in my head, because rarely does that ever happen in life, so should that bring me some relief or make me more nervous? I haven’t decided yet.
But knowing me, maybe I won’t even tell you until after the kiss. I figure that little nugget of information could serve as a good post-kiss tension breaker.
So please forgive me if I stumble a bit, spill water all over the table or laugh a bit too loudly at your jokes. I’m learning the ropes. Let’s just hope I don’t fall of those ropes.
Until we meet… xoxo