pschychosomatically I'll singto god and all his pretty girls

by mg at 10:34 PM on April 30, 2002

I’m no Casanova that is for sure.

Last night, I was talking to this girl, who is not the Mystery Date, but someone else. We talked for a bit, and then made plans to go out tonight. I may have found it hard to believe about two months ago, but I guess there is something remotely appealing about me. I’ve actually heard the word “endearing” twice in the past week, which, while not quite as powerful an adjective as “sexy”, is certainly better than “revolting.”

Later in the evening, the Mystery Date called me (I so need to come up with a better name for her). Talking with her was sort of distracting because I kept imaging what shapes her mouth was making. Did I mention she also has a little scar on her chin, just under her lower lip? The mouth, the scar, it all goes together, it just works so nicely. I haven’t asked her how she got the scar, and maybe I won’t. I kind of like the mystery.

Well, we talked for a while. Made tentative plans for later in the week (she made point to mention we could head back to her apartment afterward, what does that mean?). As we were saying good night I very nearly called her by the other girl’s name.

Now, this would hardly be a disaster at this stage of our “whatever” (don’t wanna say relationship just yet). I’m a good liar, and could have made up a story. In fact, I probably could have told the truth and she’d have laughed it off.

It wasn’t a serious disaster at all, especially since I caught myself. But what is sort of the disaster is how inept I am at dating. I’m a virile young man; I should have learned to juggle women years ago. I should have learned the best way to make the move for that first kiss. I should have learned the proper time to wait after a date before calling up (and not from Swingers that movie is so not money, baby).

There are so many things I should have learned about being a man, and about being a man in the dating world. But I never did. It is a wonder that I managed to hook up with anyone in college. It took someone pinning me down in the grassy field behind Helser Hall and kissing me before I realized she had any interest in me at all. I needed someone knocking on my door every night at three in the morning to understand if I’d just let her in, she’d have done nasty things to me. It wasn’t until after someone stripped down to her bra and panties for me in the Laundromat next to Thumbs, that I got the message to make my move.

Saying I am dense is a disrespect to lead, because even a block of lead would have been able to figure these things out before I did.

But I’m learning.

Two dates in three nights has to count for something. And I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything embarrassing or say anything that could remotely be construed as sociopathic. In fact, I was calm, interesting, funny, and maybe a little bit charming. Now, I’m no Fonzie, and probably never will be, but I’m learning; ten years late, but I’m learning.