Those of you who recall my 50th date will be pleased to note that I availed myself of the restroom during my 51st. As such, I was able to pay significantly more attention to the man in question. Here is what I discovered:
He really does have nice eyes.
He reads a lot (a different book each time I’ve seen him).
He loves to cook and evidently makes his own hummus (which is great, since I don’t like to cook and love hummus).
He’s in good shape (not that I’ve made significant inquiries here but I think it’s safe to say that he’d look just as good with his shirt off as he does with his shirt on.)
Unfortunately I had a slight wardrobe crisis approximately 25 minutes before our second date was supposed to get underway. And by “slight” I mean total disaster. 25 minutes minus 15 minutes to walk to Old City equals a mere TEN MINUTES in which to completely refigure my outfit. My nails were chipped, my hair was a mess and thanks to the fact that I haven’t done laundry in nearly two weeks, my clothing options were rather limited— so limited, in fact, that I decided to try on the dress I’d originally bought to wear on my first date with the Bovary Reading Bachelor earlier this spring.
I have never, as far as I can recall, paid full price for a dress. But given my rather intense pre-date courtship with said bachelor back in March, I figured I needed a new dress and thanks to my duties as dance teacher extraordinaire, I couldn’t afford to wait said dress to go on sale.
As such, I ended up with an extremely mod, extremely short navy blue tunic from H&M. My mother did not like it, which made me all the more determined to buy it, and when she reminded me that the money spent on the dress could be better put towards my “back to London” fund, I slapped both the dress and my debit card onto the counter in one swift movement. (Take that, Mom!)
It wasn’t until I got home, paired the dress with my heels and took a look in the mirror that I realized she was right: it was too short. Insanely short. And definitely not worth what I’d paid for it. (And of course I’d already clipped the price tag so there was no chance of returning it.)
Needless to say, I found another dress to wear on my first and last date with the Bovary Reading Bachelor (one of my mother’s of course). I figured I’d try the tunic again some other time… which is how I found myself standing in my bedroom, stark naked, with shoes, bras and dresses strewn across every horizontal surface just a few minutes before I was supposed to be meeting my 50th Date across town.
Fortunately this particular fellow lives in the ‘burbs. And he’s younger than me. (I’m not sure if that latter of these comprises a significant factor in his being late for our date but given my distaste for men younger than myself I’m going to assume that it does.)
I settled on a black frock from Old Navy (not exactly haute couture) and a pair of flat sandals. Evidently this combo did the trick because he told me “You look really nice,” and totally planted one on me when we were saying out goodbyes.