Approximately 90 minutes into dinner this past Friday, The Wedding Date That Wasn’t Mine smiles and tells me there’s something he’s been meaning to ask me.
Seeing as this is our first date, I’m fairly certain it won’t be anything too serious, but all the same the phrase “there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you” makes the hair on my neck stand up—and not in a good way.
“What’s that?” I inquire.
“Well, at the wedding, when the DJ called Lady’s Choice… was that you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you ask him to call Lady’s Choice?”
“No.” I take great umbrage to this accusation. I asked for Usher. I asked for the B52s and I asked for the Black Eyed Peas. I did not ask the DJ to call Lady’s Choice.
“That’s funny,” he mused. “I thought you had. It was weird.”
“What? Lady’s Choice? Lady’s Choice isn’t weird.”
“No, but the fact that he then said you couldn’t ask the person you came with. That was weird.”
And so it was, although to be honest, I had completely forgotten about the DJ’s little caveat. I was too busy trying to get my dad to up the ante from $5 to $20 (if you missed that story, click here.)
As it turns out The Wedding Date That Wasn’t Mine had in fact noticed me “checking” him out and had attempted to pawn me off on one of his single table mates, lest he himself be tempted to abandon his date.
(For the record, I was not checking him out; my mother was checking him out. As was my father, as was the bridesmaid he’d agreed to escort, but I was not. At least not a lot—certainly not as much as he was checking me out.)
Fortunately, his efforts to pawn me off on his table mate failed and the DJ called Lady’s Choice shortly thereafter, which is how we found ourselves eating pineapple guacamole at a Cuban restaurant in Old City in the first place…
As for the “bomb” to which I alluded in Saturday’s post? I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep that one to myself out of respect for the man in question. Suffice it to say, his personal life is a bit more complicated than mine but the way I see it “complicated” isn’t a problem until it’s a problem. (And seeing as he’s already called to ask for a second date, I don’t think it’s a problem just yet.)
PS: I’ve finally posted some pictures from Too Darn Hot, the all-women, all-tap revue I co-produced earlier this month for the Philly Fringe Festival. You can check them out over at our official blog.
- The Wedding Date That Wasn’t Mine (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)
- Some Bad News from the Wedding Date (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)