Date #1 – Mr. P

First off, prior to this date, we met once briefly, then another time, some mutual friends got us together at a bar.  [Warning: MY perspective coming up]  It was electric!  He asked me out for three, yes three, events in the coming week.  I was a little overwhelmed by all the attention.  (Not having had ANY for the last several years.  Sorry, Ex-H) I decided to go to one of the three events – the country club dinner dance that wrapped up a 3-day golf tournament.

This decision prompted a couple of shopping trips to find just the right dress, shoes, jewelry, and mindset for the night.  This was going to be my first date in 18 years.  For real.  The last time I had dated, Clinton was president, the internet did not exist except in Al Gore’s mind, and I was wearing babydoll dresses with combat boots, and listening to a whole lot of Hole, Nirvana and Soundgarden.  I had a lot of catching up to do.

My work friends came together to help Stella get her groove back – I raided closets, borrowed hair straighteners, I texted from Victoria’s Secret dressing rooms.  One even babysat for me.  A few other friends texted me before I left to wish me luck.  I felt like the luckiest girl on earth to have such great friends.  Blah blah blah, friends, great – get to the date, woman!

He pulled up, got out of the car and looked seriously hot in his expensive suit.  I could tell I was wowing him with my killer dress, heels and freshly straightened hair.  It was totally one of those slow-mo scenes from a movie.  Kinda like Phoebe Cates getting out of the pool in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, you know?  Minus the red bikini.  Well, wait, with the red bikini…oh nevermind, you get the point.  He opened my car door; it was so proper I almost peed.

Another couple was with us so we chatted while we drove to the club.  Arrived at the club, valet parked, pretended I do this shit all the time.  We strolled through the patio bar, by the pool – where he went ahead and asked me out for Date #2, a concert at Busch Stadium the following week.  Like a once-in-a-lifetime kind of a concert.  I said yes before he could finish the sentence.  The weather was beautiful.  We talked.  I told him it was my first date in 18 years (Hindsight: Error #1) and that he was setting the bar pretty high.  He should have just shown up in shorts and a tee and taken me to the burger place up the street.

He and his friend won 3rd place in the golf tournament.  I was very proud of my date who, at this point, was still essentially a complete stranger.  After passing on the caviar and oyster shooter appetizers, we moved into the dining room for dinner.  Dinner was interesting.  Salad – good, veal – not so much, only because I couldn’t stop thinking about baby cows, dessert – too rich to eat more than three bites.  Good thing the PBJ I had earlier with the kids was sticking to my divorce-diet-protruding-ribs.

After hitting the bathroom a couple of times to breathe, decompress, text my sitter to check on the kids, and adjust my strapless bra, we walked around some more and ended up outside.  The four of us walked outside to the polo field (just like in Pretty Woman!  Minus the hats!) and watched the party from afar.  He told me how great I looked.  I was smitten.  In the back of my head I’m thinking, “he says this to all the girls.”  (Hindsight: Accurate assessment #1) Terrible, aren’t I?

Then we had to leave.  When we arrived at my house, of course I asked him if he wanted to come in and say hi to my sitter (she being the mutual friend who set us up) and her daughters who came with her.  My little plan to get kissed worked.  They were hardly out the door when he planted a kiss on me that made my stomach flutter like it was prom night.  It was so great.  He is a great kisser.  (Flattered, Mr. P? You should be) The great kissing was again, great, but it also made me think “he’s probably great because he’s had lots of practice.”  (Hindsight: Accurate assessment #2) So that was a minor self-defeating distraction.

He left and I texted three of my dearest friends and told them it was the best date ever.  It truly was like a fairytale.  Too good to be true.  (Hindsight: Accurate assessment #3) Oh, and my friend, the sitter, confirmed that her daughters saw the whole thing.  I felt horrible for burning their underage retinas.

Date #1 was a smashing success in my book.

About three days later, the universe’s perfect timing then allowed me to break my 3-year vomit free streak and get the stomach flu and barf alongside my 4-year-old (her first time ever).  That was fun.  Sadly, I missed the once-in-a-lifetime concert he had invited me to, but we made plans for another date that following weekend….

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