I blame the imperfect dating record that I have on society. It is not because I am picky, or because I choose the wrong guys on purpose because I am probably the most emotionally unavailable female I know…it is literally because society ruins our idea of the perfect date with every cheesy, chick-oriented, funny yet dramatic, twist on a predictable Hollywood-run-off-in-to-the-sunset with your best friend fake romantic plot type of shit. Females are compared to Victoria Secret models, while we compare our doting pseudo-boyfriends to artificial Nicholas Sparks characters. We go out on every first date with this endless unidentified expectation of sheer and utter romance. We hold on to their every word in hopes that it will be some magical clue in to how they are really thinking….while we pretend like we don’t actually care what they are thinking…because we all want to be the “cool girl they date” who doesn’t ever think to mention that heinous “c” word.
When, in reality…it is all we can think about. We obsess over it as if it is the end all to our sheer existence. Like dating defines us…it molds us in to two different types of people: taken and alone.
Those who are taken present this better than quality. They suddenly enjoy holidays, including Valentine’s Day, lazy Sundays, cooking and trying new foods/restaurants. They share Netflix accounts and watch cheesy documentaries. They all of a sudden have planned activities on weekends that include hiking, and joint food shopping. They post awkward statuses that include their significant other, which to me never made sense, because if you are having such an awesome time with Mr. Right, what on earth are you doing on Facebook?! Although, personally, I am attached to my phone and use it inadvertently during dates or while sitting on my couch with dates, because I am insecure, awkward, and nervously weird, but more so when I like the guy. If I don’t have any real sort of attachment to you, I could put my phone in a drawer somewhere and not think twice about it. If I like you, I fidget like a child.
People who are solo, alone, by themselves, sleeping in the middle of the bed because it doesn’t matter what side they own…these people…these heathens in humanity….it’s like they are always trying to catch up to those who live in the “for-two” zone.
With that said, it is like people who are single are hopelessly searching for this perfect date. As if such a thing even exists. Girls spend hours getting ready. Guys dread that the girl will be crazy or clingy. Girls pretend like within three seconds of “Hi, nice to meet you,” or “Hi, good to see you again” introductions, that they aren’t envisioning if they can kiss you and if this will be a possibility at the end of the night. Guys size you up and stash you in to one of two categories: girl I’d like to have sex with more than once; girl I’d like to have sex with only once. Girls want a restaurant that is equipped with salads and diet sodas, and guys want hamburgers and beer. Girls want to talk about your past relationships so they can analyze what type of guy you are, which guys just want to brag to their friends about their amazing date or horrific date (either way). Guys want to sit positioned to the TV while watching the big game, girls want a guy who doesn’t care that the game is even on. I could go on. Or, I could tell you that all of these grand stereotypical assumptions were non-existent on my last (hopefully) first date.
After several days of contacting Mr. Hometown via the internet cupids, I finally convinced myself giving him my number would be a good idea. A lot of stress off my back. Like either call me or don’t…I don’t care!!…as I sat there impatiently checking my phone for 24 hours straight. Understanding that I probably came on too strong, a trait I can’t help but possess when I know what I want, I convinced myself I’d be more passive the next time because I surely scared this one off, as I didn’t receive any messages from him. Until I checked my e-mail on cupid.com and saw that he tried messaging me and thought he had the wrong phone number because I never responded. Oops.
Anyway, Mr. Hometown and I set up a time to meet in our…hometown. It was on a Sunday…during football season…at a bar…where I would be ordering beer and a burger. I warned him of this too…which he was okay with. Arriving several moments before me, he stood up the second I walked in to the restaurant and waited for me to sit before he sat back down. He listened when I spoke. Leaned in when he laughed. Opened up and shared about his situation with his ex and how it affects his children. He let me know his history with school and how he is working on finishing his Masters for teaching. He spoke about his family and what they mean to him. We stayed an hour and a half longer than intended. He told me to tell my family, who was watching my daughter, that he kidnapped me. He worked out a plan to tell my parents how we met so that I didn’t have to get lectured about internet dating.
Assuming that this fairytale (or my version of it) would end the second I returned home, it was both relieving and intimidating to know that shortly after leaving him, he messaged me. And not one of those “nice meeting you,” lame statements…but like just continuing the conversation as if we never left each other. To me, that is the perfect date. The perfect date is one that should never end even when the check comes. That is the type of date that chick-flicks end with…it’s like you watch two hours of sheer nonsense and meaningless cliches to get to the perfect first date. Because, to us, that is what romance is. It is the build up. It is the allure of potential that first dates are burdened with as people assume that after this first date comes marriage. Like, no longer is “can I buy you a drink,” a time to enjoy a beverage with another human being. It is now embedded and engrained in our minds that this loaded statement means picking out items to add to your joint registry. It means that you might have a greater potential to end up in the “couples” category. To be in a commitment with someone other than your remote or social media accounts.
Perhaps something that is important to remember is, this date was perfect because neither of us succumbed to the standards society molded for us. I had a beer and a burger. He had beers and a burger. I sat facing the TV with my teams game on it. He sat facing his TV with his game on it. I rooted and cheered when the NY Giants came close to the end zone. He felt sorry for himself when the NY Jets…well, didn’t. Our discussion on past relationships wasn’t so I could decipher if he had mommy or daddy issues with women, but rather because I instantly cared about him and wanted to make sure he was comfortable with the idea that we both have checkered pasts. We didn’t talk shit about our ex-spouses. I mean, we shared some negative attributes…but not in a nasty way. We were respectful. There were no underlying things, no games, no coy tactics to demolish each others walls. Boundaries were friendly….very friendly.
It was one of those, even if this never happens again I will hold every other date to this standard of shared conversation and socialization with the member of the opposite sex, dates. It was….perfect in all of its imperfection.
[1/17/2015]