I haven’t been on the dating scene for awhile, that is true. But before I got married, divorced, and started dating Bryan, I had my fair share of dates. (Yes, Pook, yo’ Mama used to be a hottie.) Here’s some tales.
My first formal dance, I went with a kid named Scott. It was the first dance for the both of us. We were both nervous. We went to a local “upscale” burger joint. I sat there, fidgeting and fussing with my corsage, trying awkwardly to make conversation. I ordered a soup and salad. Scott ordered a garlic onion burger. Oy Vey. The slow dances were awkward, to say the least. He didn’t get a kiss at the end of the night. I heard later that his Dad took him aside to school the boy on what not to order on a date.
My ex-husband proposed in the worst possible way. First of all, if you’re gonna propose marriage to a gal, have a damn ring. And make it a bit more romantic than, “Hey, you wanna get married?” So, when I told him he’d need a ring and something better than “Hey, you wanna get married?” bless his heart, he tried. We went to a hockey game, even though I could care less about hockey. The game was uneventful. When we got out to the car he smacked his head and yelled, “CRAP!” I thought he’d forgotten something back in the arena, but no. He’d forgotten to propose. Le sigh. Way to say you care. He said he was going to propose during the game, with us up on the Megatron. But he’d forgotten. I grabbed the box from the glove compartment and jammed it on my finger. And yet, I still married him…Omens, anyone?
Right after Pook was born, Bryan and I went out to try and celebrate our two year anniversary together. I was only 3 weeks postpartum, leaky, hormonal, tired, and not in the best of moods. But we made plans to go out to dinner & a movie, and my inlaws would watch Pook for a few hours. I had given up on nursing that very day. Nobody told me I’d still lactate, and that I’d still need my nursing pads. Me, not having the forethought to read up on that kind of stuff, stuffed a fresh pair of pads into my bra and left for dinner. Halfway through dinner the waitress asked if I needed a towel. Puzzled, I asked why. She said I’d spilled water on my blouse. I looked down…No, that wasn’t water. I was leaking everywhere. I ran into the bathroom, betrayed by my pads. I ended up stuffing scratchy paper towels down my shirt. After the movie, I was leaking again. I ended up going into the handicapped stall and more or less milking myself into the toilet. It wasn’t a great date.
Bryan and I had a rather unusual start. For one, I was freshly separated from my ex-husband. I was freeeee! Problem is, he’d cleaned out everything in the studio we had, leaving me with a mattress on the floor, a TV on the floor, and a set of flannel sheets in the middle of May. Oh yeah, in a display of maturity, he’d also completely trashed the place. Bryan offered to come over and help me put the place back together. Our first “date” involved going behind the grocery outlet to get milk crates to use as a box spring, and dumpster diving for a TV stand. (That we still have, by the way.) And, as a final romantic touch to the afternoon, he bought me Taco John’s. Ain’t he something? Hey, something obviously worked, we’re here three years later. We ended our perfect evening by going to a local bar for a few rounds of pool, Jell-O shooters, and beer. We’re klas-see.
That's about all I have. At least that I'm willing to post on the Internet. Hey, my Dad reads this stuff.
RSS Feed