The World of Dating

Bobby and I have never had good luck with real dating. We became friends mostly because he tried to date my best friend and she shut him down. Then we played the 'do you like me?' game. I asked him out on St. Patrick's Day. He said yes and was going to come all the way down from Grass Valley, until he realized he didn't have the gas. So I went up there. We saw a crappy movie and talked until the wee hours of the night. By the end of the night, it felt like we were good friends, and that is just how it ended. No kiss, no holding hands. As it turns out, we were both waiting for the other one to make a move. I thought he should make the move because I asked him out, he thought I was an aggressive girl and I would make the move if I wanted to date him.

We went on like this for a while until finally, while ignoring a movie at my house and petting my new kitten, he moved his hand over to mine (on the cat) and grabbed my pinkie with his pinkie. It was safe, if I didn't want to hold his hand, he could just say the cat was to small for two hands. All very cute and shy. I told him it was ok to hold my whole hand. Now I thought we were finally going to have a romantic evening, but we had gone out to Ethiopian food earlier (very spicy) and ended up spending much of the night in the bathroom hoping the other wouldn't know what was happening in there.

Then we went on our first real date, or we were supposed to. We were going to go to an all night coffee shop that plays live music after I got off work. He was supposed to pick me up at 11pm. I called at 11:30 wonder where he was.

I called at 12am.

I called at 12:30am.

I called at 1am and told him that I considered this an official stand- up and that it was rude and if he didn't really like me the least he could do is tell me.

Because of the chronic illness he suffers from, Bobby had fallen asleep at 9pm. He called back at 2am, hoping to still come over. He was already on his way, and when he got to my house I had been asleep for a 1/2 hour. We talked for about an hour and then both fell asleep, waking in time for school with no real date happening.

When we finally got to go on a real date, we decided to go to a nice restaurant. We chose Aioli downtown. We went and got the most horrible service ever. The waiter was rude, he didn't bring us the right food, our glasses were almost always empty, he didn't ask if we'd like dessert. He visited all the tables around us numerous times and then completely ignored us. We think because we're young, he thought he wouldn't get a good tip. Self fulfilling proficy. It made for a bad date, but a good story to tell at culinary school the next day.

Six months later, after we'd moved in together, our apartment had burned down, and we'd obtained furniture jointly, we had the time and money to go on another real date. Bobby was working at one of the finest restaurants in the Sacramento area, and he got a discount.

I showered, put on make- up, wore heals and a leather jacket. (I'm kind of low maintenance, this is a lot of gussying up for me.) Bobby wore slacks and a shirt with no stains or holes anywhere on them. (Again, he's kind of low maintenance, this is a stretch for him.)

We went to dinner at Hawks and it was beautiful. The water came in goblets made of crystal, the plates were bone china. The dining room was beautiful and dim, lit mostly with candles. The waitress was attentive, and let the chef know a fellow employee was there. We ordered three courses, but were served 7 with all the complementary dishes they gave us. We had salmon mouse on a waffled potato, patrole sole with reduced beet sauce, duck confie, fua gua (I don't think I spelled that right, but it's duck liver), and much more. By then end we were so full we just wanted to lay down and digest.

Back at home the plan was to 'get busy.' We layed down and put on a movie and began to digest and regain energy for the exciting night ahead. While he was feeling better by the minute, ready to go, I was feeling worse. Suddenly, I ran to the bathroom.

I spent the rest of the night spewing out of every orephus of my body with such force I probably could have knocked over the ducks from that carnival game with the water gun. I layed on the bathroom floor in fetal position groaning while my date (not husband yet) brought me changes of garments and held my hair back. When he cleaned up the bathroom later he almost got sick himself. So romantic.

This is the night he says he knew he'd spend the rest of his life with me. If he could look at me with love and desire after seeing all that come out of me, he knew it was the real thing.

We now choose not to plan dates, but just play it all by ear. Planning makes me sick.