First Date

The entire ‘dating after 40’ thing is very stressful. The dating rules seemed to have changed over the past 25 years since I was last in the dating pool; I am completely confused and perplexed by what is now acceptable. Case in point: according to one of the books I read (It was not an entire book on dating, just a chapter in “How to divorce your husband and not come out looking like a nut case” kind of book.), it is perfectly acceptable to ask your date if they have any STDs. Don’t get me wrong, this is very good information to know, but I am not quite sure how one is to work the topic into a conversation. Maybe during the main course of a meal when there always seems to be a natural lull in the conversation, one is to slip the question past the date. “These carrots are delicious. Could you pass the salt, and do you have any nasty critters on your Johnson?”

I am not sure but I think my grandmother along with Emily Post would absolutely spin in their graves. My mother, who was a stickler for grammar, would have made some sort of comment like, “Use proper English, dear; it is called a penis. Please sit up straight, and what is wrong with your hair? Pull it back; I cannot see your face?”

Let’s take a step backwards and determine what one should wear to a date considering one didn’t have time to go shopping for any type of date clothing. So, we take a look at the cloths in Dategirl’s closet. Hummm…
- A stack of work in the yard/ paint pants and sweatshirts
- Several hangers of non descript mom pants which are generally worn to the grocery store, Home Depot and the vet’s office
- Work cloths. Oh, you mean the 27 shades of black or grey baggy in the butt pants that you own
- Oh, we cannot forget the mound of sweat pants used on those “bloating” days

Great! By the looks of this wardrobe, the only way Dategirl is ever going to get to first base is by sitting in a shopping cart being pulled by the baseball team’s mascot goat named Dixie.

Finally, I opted for the knee length black skirt, a tight white long sleeve t-shirt (accidentally bought the wrong size) and black knee high boots with big chunky heels which scream ‘I really would like to be sexy, but I have a casserole in the oven, kids to pick up by six, and a dog who has decided he likes to jump the fence to visit other dogs in the neighborhood.’ To top off the outfit, I throw on a leather jacket and a 34 foot long scarf and wrap it around myself until I am completely unrecognizable and look like the little brother in “The Christmas Story.”

Once you get over the “what to wear” hurdle, you have to meet the person and decide within .8 seconds if they look like a serial killer, and you need to turn and run. I decided to stay. What the heck, you only live once unless of course you are Sybil, and you get to lead 16 different lives at once. Not a bad option, but I don’t see how I can fit MPS in between carpool and cleaning up dog throw up.

We get seated at a table. Side note: if the date goes badly, I picked a restaurant with a back/side entrance. So Dategirl is ready for the first date. Maybe…
The waitress asks “Can I get you something to drink?” Yes. I think I am about to have a nervous breakdown before this date is over so could you just start bringing me whatever liquor you have? Alphabetical order would be easier to manage; I’ll start with Amaretto on the rocks. So now, food and drinks have been ordered. The small talk of “Did you find the restaurant OK?” “The weather sure is weathery today.” “What was your name again?” is finally over, and you are forced to stare at your date and come up with some cleaver conversation starter. Let’s see. Did I check CNN or Headline News today for easy topic starters? Nope. Hum. Dead air. Nice going. Mr. Date steps up to the plate and speaks. Oh, thank God for small favors.

Now during many first dates, the conversation resembles more of an interview process ranging in topics of medical, financial, mental, religious, political, and general life style. I have watched enough CSI, Criminal Minds and Bones episodes to identify prison tattoos, date rape drugs, various murder techniques, the above the mentioned serial killer or just plan rapists. It is also good to know that my many years of therapy have not gone to waste and have given me an astute awareness of several personally defects. So, I carefully listen to the answers Mr. Date gives to determine if he has the following behaviors: Control Freak, Wife Beater, All Round Loser, Passive-Aggressiveness, Pretentious Intellectual, Paranoid Delusional, Player, Mama’s Boy, Workaholic, or Spoiled Brat.

So, how is Dategirl’s evening progressing? You would think you could leave her alone for 5 minutes to answer a few personal questions. Such as “What type of music do you listen to?” This should be an easy question to answer. Well, let us just see how Dategirl answers this seemingly simple question shall we?

“What type of music do you like?” politely asks Mr. Date while sipping his cocktail.
“Well, that depends on what type of mood I am in or what I a doing,” replies Dategirl.
“OK?” Mr. Date responds with a somewhat puzzled look on his face.
“For Angry Chick music, I like Hole, Pink, Fiona Apple,” our heroine stops as she see the horrified look on her date’s face. She isn’t quite sure if it is the category or just the fact he has never heard of the artists, so she continues with her answer.
“For contemporary rock, I like Foo Fighters, Nickelback, blah, blah, blah….Pop rock: blah, blah, blah…Alternative Rock: ColdPlay, Modest Mouse, blah, blah…Punk: Elvis Costello, blah, blah…Folk rock: blah, blah, blah...”
More blank stares as he takes a large swallow from his drink. At this point, Crazy woman has totally lost control of the conversation and is just rambling. She notices the ‘WTF are you talking about’ look on her date’s face and quickly tries to do a Hail Mary play.
“I grew up listening to rock artists such as David Bowie, Jimi Hendrix, Queen, and Van Halen,” Disaster Dategirl states as she finally takes a breath of air.
“Led Zeppelin?” Datedude finally chimes in with a response.
“Yes, and of course, one cannot live without listening to the Beatles, Motown, a bit of Big Band, some Ragtime, and Frank Sinatra” she says as she wraps up her 20 minute dissertation.
“What music don’t you like?” he seems to hesitate as he asks.
“Blue Grass, Opera, and most County music,” she states emphatically within 2.5 seconds and responds politely with, “What type of music do you like?”
“Country,” he replies with a quiet smile. Crap. Date over, I am so screwed. Dategirl puts her foot in her mouth. Waitress, I think I am up to the T’s; I would like tequila after that complete verbal debacle.

“Oh, like the Dixie Chicks or Lyle Lovett?” she states with a ‘Please don’t think I am a complete pompous ass’ smile.
“No. I like blah, blah, Toby Keith, blah, blah, blah…Southern Rock: Eagles, blah, blah, blah…” He hesitated as he watched her face become a contorted pile of flesh.

Dategirl could hear herself listening to the group names and saying to herself, “Oh, please don’t say his name. If you say his name, it will mean the date is over, and there is never any hope for a second date which would be a shame because Dateman is tall and good looking. I mean, let’s be real about it. The country artist in question hasn’t had a hit since what the ‘90s? He was pretty much the Britney Spears of Country music. OK, kudos go out to his lead guitarist, that dude could make a guitar wail. But come on, what was up with the jet pilot head gear for a microphone? And those two toned geometric shirts? They would make the guys from ‘Queer Eye’ spin like a glitter ball at a disco…Don’t say it….

“And of course, I like Garth Brooks,” says Mr. Date with a bright smile.

Date over. Check please! ...and a Zima in a to-go cup.