Right. About that 50th date. This would be the point where, if I was writing a book, I’d go all philosophical and launch into some bittersweet, Hallmark movie explanation about how I’d embarked upon a journey to find love but (cue sappy music) found myself instead.
But I’m not writing a book.
Not about dating.
At least not yet. I do have some delusions of grandeur (and writing the great American novel) to maintain.
I did, however, learn something very important on my 50th date. Something crucial—something that will be of great use to all you singletons out there and will make the happily coupled amongst you wonder how you even managed to snag yourself a soul mate without the knowledge I’m about lay down.
(Yeah, I’m all about layin’ down the knowledge after Saturday’s photo shoot. Who knew an exposed brick wall, a BCBG dress and an appropriately gangta pose could make me look like such a bad*ss?)
Anyway, get out your notebooks because this is going to change your life.
A life lesson from Kat’s Hard Knocks Skool of Dating (and yes, that’s “skool” with a “k.” I’m gangsta now).
If you’re meeting a man for sushi and order wine with your meal, do not proceed to then “grab a coffee” and “head to Rittenhouse Square” without first availing yourself of the restroom.
Especially if you’ve been “pre-gaming” at Good Karma in the Gayborhood (by which I mean enjoying your first of several café mochas).
Well, because you’ll find yourself sitting in Rittenhouse Square thinking What a lovely day, and that was a rather lovely California roll and—oh my God, I have to pee!
You’ll try to concentrate on other things such as Hmmm… he has rather nice eyes. I wonder if those are contact lenses or… is there a restroom in this park?
This is not the first time I’ve found myself thus, er, distressed in Rittenhouse.
Rittenhouse has come to comprise the epicenter of my dating career.
In fact, I’ve put together a little map for the geographically minded amongst you which I hope you’ll appreciate because it took me 45 minutes to figure out how to plot my Center City dates on Google maps (yes, it’s interactive):
Having dined north, east and west of the Square, you would think I’d have learned by now. After all, a girl who’s gone on 50 dates should know that when it comes to coffee, you need to pre-game or post-game, not both.
(“Should” being the operative word here.)
I did my best to hold it and spent the next hour crossed legged in the Square thinking, Well now, won’t my readers be proud of me? My 50th date is just barely taller-than-me-in-heels, he’s an entire month younger than me and he’s neither a Pre-Raphaelite nor an Impressionist. How’s that for breaking the mold?
I’m learning from past mistakes!
I’m dating someone normal. I’m—holy sh*t, if I don’t make it home within the next ten minutes, my bladder is going to explode.
And so it was that I found myself basically sprinting the thirty blocks that lie between my parent’s place and Rittenhouse Square. Clearly my Hallmark moment is still a long way off.