Never. Gonna. Happen.

At the point in my short-lived dating life I have given up.  That’s O.K. I am finally good with being alone. So the next date I have I make an agreement with myself that I don’t really care if he likes me. In fact I’m going to be the most outlandish me I can be. I have been talking to Driggs for awhile now and he is incredibly witty but I don’t think he’s my type.  I call him Driggs because for the first two weeks or so of communicating with him I can’t remember if his name is Gary or Greg. He is brilliant but into computers and IT shit, which I know nothing about. So all during our conversations I keep coming back to…He is witty, but…He is smart but…I like him but…so when we make our date at the coffee shop I couldn’t give two fucks about if he likes me. I am merely going on this date for practice in dating.  I decide that I will leave the date exactly two hours after we meet and since I don’t care about anything but building my dating resume, the two hour deadline works.

I pull into the parking spot near the coffee shop where we are scheduled to meet, he sees me pull up and he waits for me on the corner. That’s when it happens, I look down at his feet and he is wearing white socks with black tennis shoes, which is perfect.  I could never and will never fall in love with someone who wears such a shocking combo on any limb.  Phew, I am relieved. This is the first date where I feel I can be myself, this is the first time since my first date with Peter where I feel free to be me.  After all, this dude is wearing white socks with black tennis shoes. I am golden.

We say hello and we begin to walk to the front of the coffee shop.  He opens the door for me.  Well, he is super chivalrous but white socks black shoes.  We order our coffee, well he orders his and I order a cookie because this place does not have hot chocolate.  Driggs and I sit down and he asks me several questions about me and my life and I purposely pepper my language with as many “bad” words as I can muster. My seemingly inappropriate language has no effect on him.  He doesn’t seem to care about the words I use, he only cares about the content of our conversation. So he is an intent listener…white socks black shoes. I start to notice his body language is mimicking mine and he is actually leaning into my body, leaning in to me…white socks black shoes.

He asks me if I would like to go for a walk on the riverfront and I agree. We walk and talk and talk and talk.  He makes me laughs as he regales me with stories of his travels around the world. So what, he likes to travel AND is fluent in Spanish…white socks, black shoes. I look at my phone and I have missed my two hour deadline by three hours. I’ve spent FIVE hours with this dude!

Holy shit! I must end this date. I panic as I try to figure out how to end this shit and get back to my car because we are still on the waterfront.  My silence alerts him that something is percolating in my brain, he looks at me and asks “what’s going on over there?” As I look up at him I notice his eyes, they are beautiful and blue and caring. So what, his eyes are dreamy…white socks black shoes. Before I could stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth I told him he should kiss me. Our lips meet and my knees crumble. He ask me if I would like more of a kiss, I hope he’s asking me because he wants more of one as badly as I do. I am speechless, I nod my head in the affirmative.  He leans in and kisses me, tongues are involved yet the kiss seems more romantic than seamy. So what if I feel fireworks go off in my pants…white socks black shoes.

We finally stop kissing and I can’t breathe. My stomach is in knots and it’s hovering somewhere around my throat.  I tell him I want to start heading back to my car and of course he obliges.  We get to a major street and as we begin to cross it, he gently grabs my hand, a romantic gesture I have not experienced since Peter was alive. (He later dismisses this move as habit as he has little children, I still maintain he wanted to hold MY hand as we cross the busy street.) We arrive back at my car and I find that I am thankful he has lead me back because I am still dizzy from his romantic kisses and his impromptu hand holding.

As I emerge from my kissing coma, I remember that I have kids at home. I imagine that with nearly six hours alone together and no phone calls to me, my house has become some demented version of Lord of the Flies, my daughter of course slaughtering her brother because he gave her the side eye. I tell Driggs I must end our date. He looks down at me and he asks “do you have to go?” I look at him and steady in my resolve tell him…No.

Kids? What kids? Driggs smiles and tells me he knows about a great ice cream shop and since I am sweaty and thirsty, ice cream sound marvelous. So what if he loves artisan ice cream, he’s wearing something…well I can’t remember. Oh yeah, white socks, black shoes.

We drive to the ice cream store that just happens to be called Fifty Licks.  I ask him if this is one of his moves, is the Fifty Licks logo is supposed to trigger my brain to want to give or receive licks.  He says no and laughs, I suddenly want to lick his neck.  So what if he thinks I am incredibly witty, he has something wrong with…and who cares if he adores my laugh, I swear there was something wrong with him, was it his socks? For the life of me I can’t remember. While we eat our ice cream at a small metal table, he leans into me and kisses me, saying that he really only wanted to taste my ice cream selection.

I want to be alone with him and I strongly suggest that he take me somewhere where we can be alone.  I am desperate to explore this kissing phenomenon. I am desperate to explore him. We caravan back to his house and I feel like I have known him all of my life. In the few hours we have been together, we have already cultivated a series of inside jokes. The time seems to stand still when we are together and the ache in my heart is somehow lessened when he is touching me.  I want him to be mine and I tell him as much. Night has fallen and I decide that I must leave his lips, even though I don’t want to go. He walks me to my car and when he grabs my hand I look down and notice the most adorable thing; he is wearing white socks with black tennis shoes.

5 thoughts on “Never. Gonna. Happen.

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