Tonight I’m meeting My One O’Clock for a second date. That’s right: between the Norwegian, the Salsa Date and My Three O’Clock it was (to my great and rather pleasant surprise) the disheveled but oh-so-sexy rock climber who managed to get his act together the soonest, thereby landing himself another slot in my date book.
(Note: I don’t actually have a date book. I have an erasable 4-month wall calendar from Staples hanging beside my desk. It’s marked in pink for “dance stuff,” blue for “writing stuff” and green for “dating stuff.” The more I think about it, however, the more I think I probably should invest in a date book. There’s an awful lot of green writing on my calendar right now and in the unlikely event that somebody aside from me sees it—a male somebody, to be specific— I’d rather not have to ‘splain myself.)
It’s been a while since I’ve been on a second date. A few months actually. I’d be nervous except for the fact that whenever I’m corresponding with several men simultaneously, I don’t have the time (or mental energy) to get hung up on any one in particular. As such, I generally manage to project those cool, collected, couldn’t-care-less vibes that men—and some women, myself included— find so attractive.
(Does anyone else find this odd?)
These days, I’m too busy returning phone calls and sending text messages to waste time planning imaginary weddings or fantasizing about fairytale honeymoons in Cambodia (Yes, Cambodia. I used to think I’d like to honeymoon in Ireland but I’ve been on an Asian kick lately).
So like I said: I’m going out with My One O’Clock tonight and we’re going to Tria, the wine and cheese bar on Spruce, but I couldn’t-care-less.
(At least that’s what I’m going to keep telling myself. In truth, the man in question made the mistake of reading my column last week and emailing me to tell me he *loved* it. He even used the little asterisks in his email and everything. Seeing as my column is simultaneously a source of great pride and a major stumbling block in my attempts to forge a functional relationship, I was floored. None of my dates has ever told me they *loved* my column before. At best, they manage to crack a joke in the Reptile House at the Philadelphia Zoo; at worst, they just grudgingly give their consent and chalk it up to one of my many eccentricities. So who knows. Tonight might get interesting.)
PS: If you’ve stumbled upon this here blog by way of 20SB, thanks for stopping by! Click here to read about my great date experiment from the beginning. Enjoy!