First dates

Does anyone really know how you’re supposed to behave on a first date? What expectations should you have? Bells and whistles? Fireworks? Who pays? And what time does the friggin’ Metro close on a Tuesday, anyway?!

Food is an obnoxious way to begin a first date. There I was, surrounded by about 6 plates of tapas at La Tasca in Chinatown, reaching above/around/in/under/through my datee while clumsily spooning chopped peppers and tomatoes into my mouth. My fine motor skills were not cooperating; I was leaving a trail of food from the plate to my lap (almost like Hansel and Gretel backpacking through … well … Spain, I guess).

I think there was even one point where I spit a piece of rice at the poor boy.

He was a complete gentleman and ordered for me. Not knowing my tastes, this was a bold move. My only qualm with cuisine is seafood, particularly when there are identifiable appendages still attached to the glossy-eyed carcass. I did my best to disguise the uneaten remains amongst the showering of tidbits I had spilt all over the table. My datee was not fooled.

And then there’s the awkward exit-of-the-car moment. Is there action? A kiss? A hug? A second date request?

He continued to be a complete gentleman. He gave me a hug, brushed my dribblings off of his jacket, and drove away.