Not Quite Fifty First Dates
I was a bit of a late bloomer. At age thirteen I was often mistaken for a boy. My swim coach’s nickname for me was “OddBod”. If that wasn’t scarring enough, my father was very old school, straight off the boat Italian. The idea that I could even date before age 16 was absurd; it didn’t matter if it was a school dance or not. When I did date, it was expected to be an early evening and in a group. I wasn’t even allowed out of the house in shorts, short skirts, or uncovered shoulders.
My dad would have loved to have sent me to Catholic high school as he did my sister and brother, but I somehow managed to escape the nuns post-grade school. It may have been tied to my, umm, let’s say exuberance in living life out loud, and my sometimes inability to follow rules. And maybe a bit to do with how much funds were spent on his whiskey rather than my education. Nevertheless, my exposure to the diverse people I met attending a public high school taught me many ways to circumvent the strictness imposed upon my personal life. Unfortunately, it did little to mitigate the awkwardness with which I navigated a number of first dates.
I met my first boyfriend at my high school. He attended a rival school and was there for an evening driver’s ed program. I worked backstage on my school’s theatre productions and saw him in the hallway. I’d like to say that Sven and I were swept off of our feet with each other and it was a perfect teenage love story. But no. We went to a party at my friend’s house. As was common in our semi-rural area, much of the party was out in the barn. He took my hand, sweetly guiding me up the ladder to the loft. There, he leaned in to kiss me. Wow, I could see stars! Unfortunately, the stars were spinning in my brain because we fell out of the loft onto the hay covered floor below. So much for first love.
Then, the quarterback asked me out. Oh, how fun! He drives across the county to pick me up. I’m in the car less than a minute before I discover his very drunk best friend was lying across the back seat. Apparently whatever pre-gaming they had done left Frank too inebriated to go home, so my date decided to drag him along until he sobered up. Hint: that did not happen all evening. No real loss, though. We soon discovered that the only thing we had in common was that we both liked my girlfriend Kerry.
Shift to college. This has to get better! One of my sorority sisters is dating a Marine in Officers Candidate School at Quantico. Would I like to go out with one of his roommates? Sure, I’ll give it a shot. I cannot recall his name these days, but I clearly recall my mother planning our first dance before he even picked me up. We leave my parent’s driveway in the late Sunday afternoon sun. “So, what are you thinking we should do?” I asked. His reply – in dead seriousness: “I thought we could get a hotel room.” Ummm, what? The only thing that came out of my mouth was “I’d really rather go ice skating.” Taking the hint, he continued around the block and dropped me back home. I managed to crush my mother’s dream wedding in under 5 minutes.
I find myself on another first date. Picture me sitting on a chair in a local pizza joint. My feet are stretched to the bench on the other side of the table, one of my legs on either side of the large center table post. In my defense, it was midweek and had been a long day. Despite that, the conversation was entertaining, the food was great. I’m feeling a little better about this date. My date pays the bill and leaves the table. I’ll be damned if he hadn’t untied my running shoes – still on my feet on the bench opposite me – and retied them together. Nope, I never noticed. Mind you, I couldn’t reach my feet across the table. Worse, the table post between my knees prevented me from pulling my feet back where I could reach them. Okay, you got me. Come back please and untie them. But no. He left the restaurant and was standing outside the window, pointing in at me and laughing. Major red flag, you think?
Luckily my heroines mostly escape the awkwardness of teenage years. When I write about their amazing meet cute moments, though, they’re entirely fictionalized. Still, the romantic in my heart was not beat down by my inability to attract the perfect first date in my youth. I love to read about meet cutes. I love to watch them on film. And I’d love to hear about yours!
Much love – Tessa
