Try Not to Send Him (Her) Running Back to the Ex

Anyone else notice I've been the offender in these latest posts?

Date 1:

Context: He's an alum from a local college, one which many of my high school classmates attended. We play the name game.

"So who did you hang out with from my school?" I ask.

He begins, "Well, I knew Scott ____."

"Oh, right right. I remember him."

"Let's see. Jessica _____."

"Sure. Sure." I nod.

"Oh, and there's Brian _____."

Thinking, I respond, "Hmm. Can't quite place him."

"And Michelle _____."

"Oh my God! You know Michelle? She and I used to hang out back in the day. She is definitely one of the nicest people I've ever met. This one time, in sixth grade......" Diarrhea of the mouth ensues as Ken politely nods and 'mmm hmms' and 'uhh huhs' at the right times. Finally wrapping up my story, I finish with, "Anyway, I just remember her being such a great person."

"Yeah."

Fast forward to Date 3:

Context: Discussing high school reunions

I offer information on my own reunion, "I went to my ten year a couple years ago. It was ok. There were a lot of people I would have liked to see who didn't show. Oh! But, you know who did? Michelle! And boy, she looks great! Sounds like she's doing well too. She's living in North Carolina and is pretty successful. It was great to see her."

Looking slightly uncomfortable, Ken says, "(Dauntless), uh, I don't know how to tell you this, but Michelle and I dated for about two years."

Firmly clasping my jaw shut so it doesn't hit the floor, I reply with a clipped, "Oh." What the fuuuuuck? Stupid, stupid, stupid. "Well, you know, she didn't look that great."

Fast forward to the day after Date 3:

As if the wound needed salt, I decided to pull out my high school year book to look up Michelle's picture. While flipping to her name, I came across the "Best" section. There she was. In full color. Voted 'best personality' by a senior class of over 500.

Well, at least I was right about her. She was cool.

Dating is Scary Enough...

without adding your own thrill seeking to the event. I found this out while on a rather boring date.

Mid-drink, I had to go to the ladies room. I politely excused myself, relieved that I had a break from hearing about my date's learning disabilities. I passed one out-of-order bathroom, and descended the stairs to visit the other ladies room. As I approached the narrow hallway encompassing a single ladies room and a single men's room, I saw the line. Three women waiting and zero men. Typical.

2 minutes pass...still three women in front of me.

3 minutes pass...woman number three decides she can hold it and drops out of line. Sweet. One man goes into his restroom.

5 minutes pass...first woman emerges from the restroom, now one stands between me and relief. Man comes out of his bathroom, comments, "This one's free." (Mental light bulb beams above Dauntless' head) This will add some excitement to the date.

I grin and shrug to the woman waiting in front of me and make a beeline for the men's room. Once inside, I decide I am crazy to do this in a restaurant/bar at 7:30 at night. After all, the patrons aren't even buzzing yet. My pulse quickens after I turn back to the door and push the lock. Nothing. Fuck! But I can't retreat now. I've made a commitment.

I hold the door shut with one foot as I squat and push my pee like I was Katherine Heigl. As the door handle begins to jingle, a bead of sweat forms on my forehead, but my foot holds firm and the jingling stops.

I quickly flush and wash, taking a second to wipe the sweat off my face. As I slink out of the bathroom, I give the shocked old man outside the door a sheepish grin, pass the ladies line (with the woman who was in front of me still crossing her legs in line), and head upstairs.

Realizing how many things could have gone wrong on my mini-adventure, I rejoin my date, patting my own back because I really got away with one this time.

A couple of minutes into our new conversation about home improvement, I bring my index finger and thumb about an inch apart to explain the size of the threshold between my kitchen and dining room. When I glance at my hand, I am horrified to realize it is shaking uncontrollably. I close my fist and try again. The hand seizure resumes.

My date raises his eyebrows at the recognition of my nerves, no doubt thinking his good looks and charm are to blame.

I can do nothing but put my hand back in my lap and say, "Anyway, the threshold is about an inch high." and make a mental note not to visit the men's room on my next date.

Men, may I recommend not using the ladies room on your next date?