November 15, 2011 by Kat Richter
We hike, we picnic and we down the entire thermos of hot chocolate I’ve prepared for our little excursion. Eventually, The Wedding Date suggests we go back to his place to regroup before heading out the movies.
“I should warn you,” he says as we approach his front door, “it’s nothing big, and it’s nothing fancy, but it’s mine. And I’ve done all of the renovations myself with my dad.”
I nod. Over the course of the past year and a half, I’ve dated men from every rung of the property ladder—from bone fide home owners, such as The Wedding Date and Date #6, to unemployed squatters (remember My One O’Clock? Total couch surfer).
I’ve seen just about everything at this point, and considering the fact that I’m currently renting from my parents, I’m in no position to judge. (As long as there aren’t half eaten pizza slices littering the floors… if there are, all bets are off.)
The Wedding Date opens the door and invites me to follow him inside. Then he takes off his shoes and asks me to do the same. Fortunately, I’ve taken the time to find matching socks—the kind that aren’t riddled with holes and ill-fated repair attempts—so I don’t mind.
The tour begins with the living room, which features the standard issue black leather sofa and glass coffee table. (What is with bachelors and their black leather sofas?) Against the wall is The Wedding Date’s collection of DVDs, including Seven Samurai.
“You’re a Kurosawa fan?” I ask.
“You know, I haven’t actually watched that yet,” he confesses. “Mainly because it’s like four hours long and I can’t convince anyone to watch it with me. But I’m impressed that you know who Kurosawa is.”
I laugh and explain that this is only because of the Asian history course I had to take in college (the professor told us that mentioning the name ‘Kurosawa’ would make us sound very intelligent at cocktail parties).
As we head towards the kitchen, I inform The Wedding Date that I will consider watching Seven Samurai with him if he provides me with four hour’s worth of chocolate and wine.
He readily agrees.
The kitchen, mind you, is spotless. Not a dirty glass in sight, let alone a half eaten slice of pizza. By the time we head down the hall and take a quick peak inside the bedrooms and the bathroom, I’m starting to get a funny feeling.
“Your house… is it… is it always like this? Or did you do this just because you knew I was coming over?” Everything is folded. And clean. And arranged according to size and height. I think about my own bedroom—the pile of laundry I’ve been meaning to put away for nearly a week now, the baskets of paper work I need to sort out, the fact that I couldn’t find my new box of razor heads to shave my legs prior to meeting The Wedding Date because the box had fallen from the pile of laundry into the basket of paperwork—and I start to panic. The Wedding Date would have a heart attack in my bed room, just as I’m about to have a heart attack in his.
He shrugs. “I like to keep things neat. I did clean up a little bit extra for you but this is pretty much how it always is.”
It isn’t until I retrieve the chocolate chip cookies from my bag and head into the living room that I fully comprehend just how “neat” The Wedding Date likes to be.
He intercepts me, and does it in a rather sexy, hug-plus-kiss sort of way, but he sends me back to the kitchen with my Tupperware of chocolate goodness nonetheless and tells me, rather sheepishly, “Those don’t come in here.”
They’re cookies. It’s not as if I’m fixing to set up an ice cream buffet on his couch.
But it’s his house, not mine, and frankly, I would kill to have a desk like his—you know, the kind where you can actually see the desk beneath all of the paperwork and empty coffee mugs? Maybe I could learn a thing or two… because my current arrangement (two desks, with an eye towards investing in a third) is not working.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I was debating whether or not to say anything but…”
“Its fine,” I assure him. “It’s just that I’m more of an ‘organized chaos’ sort of person.”
He smiles. “You’re artistic.”
Right. There’s a reason for my madness.
There’s also a reason that we never make it to the movies, but I’ll get to that later.
- Friday with The Wedding Date (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)
- Hiking, The Wedding Date and My Mother, the Fortune Teller (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)
- Signature Wedding Dates (myeweddings.wordpress.com)