On Sunday morning, Date #7 tells me to put on a pair of sneakers.
“Sneakers?” I ask. “Seriously? I hate sneakers.” It’s true: I don’t wear sneakers unless I absolutely have to, especially this time of year.
“Well we’re going to be outdoors,” he replies.
“Are we hiking?”
“Then I can wear sandals.”
“Can I wear a dress?”
He shrugs and finally tells me I can.
Surprises are sweet and romantic and all but they don’t make for easy wardrobe selections and seeing as I’ve managed to cram four pairs of shoes into my weekend bag (sandals, sneakers, platforms and stilettos), I have quite a few options to pick from.
I settle on my sandals and my blue and white wrap dress and we head down to the car.
“I hate to be one of those people,” I begin, “but can we stop at a Starbucks on the way?”
Date #7 doesn’t drink coffee and having scheduled my visit immediately following the celebration of my 26th birthday, it was only through the grace of espresso-spike chai lattes that I even made it to Pittsburgh. I intended to get a good night’s sleep on Saturday, so I’d be ready for Sunday’s surprise but who are we kidding? One does not drive across the state to sleep; I needed caffeine.
Unfortunately, there was nary a Starbucks in sight so to keep myself awake, I decided to make pleasant conversation with Date #7 during the drive to—well, I can’t tell you; it would ruin the surprise.
Unbeknownst to me, Date #7 isn’t much of a conversationalist, especially in the morning.
After my fiftieth question or so, he finally turns to me and says, “I should probably tell you… it takes me a while to get going in the mornings. I don’t really talk.”
I don’t really talk?
This strikes me as positively absurd—what else are we supposed to do during the 90 minute drive to… you know…? This is almost as bad as the time that Date #17 took me to the movies and told me he wasn’t really “into snacking.”
Talking and snacking are the stuff of life.
But not to Date #7 evidently, and it does eventually occur to me that in my sleep-deprived, coffee-deprived state, I might possibly have been babbling.
When we finally reach our mystery destination, I make a beeline for the café. One iced mocha frappuccino and a bar of dark chocolate later, I’m feeling much better and Date #7 discovers, much to his surprise, that he actually enjoys coffee of the iced mocha frappuccino variety.
In fact, he’s positively loquacious as we make our way down the path.
“By the way,” he announces, “this is your birthday present. I think you’re really going to like it.”
Ten points to the first reader who can guess where we went. Here’s a hint: