I’d forgotten what a pain in the butt it can be to prepare for a picnic when you live in the city and don’t own a car. I’d also forgotten that I have amassed a collection of approximately six million water bottles over the years, any of which I could have filled for my afternoon with The Wedding Date on Friday; instead, I bought a liter of bottled water at Whole Foods (in addition to sushi, a load of bread, three different types of cheese, chocolate and hummus), which I then proceeded to lug all the way home, stopping for a bottle of wine halfway down South Street and a quarter pound of prosciutto at the new deli on 2nd and Christian.
(Note: I did not consume said bottle of wine. The wine was for our hike, as was the prosciutto, but I was definitely tempted to “lighten the load” on more than one occasion during the fifteen block trek from Whole Foods.)
Fortunately our third-date “hike” was more of third-date “stroll” so it didn’t matter that my shoulders were about to fall out of their sockets by the time Friday afternoon rolled around.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I should explain that The Wedding Date lives in New Jersey (thus confirming my suspicion that there aren’t actually any decent men here in the City of the Brotherly Love) and even though I myself used to live in New Jersey, I made not one, not two, but three wrong turns on my way to his house.
I also left Philadelphia an hour later than I’d intended to and in my haste to depart, I completely forgot to apply mascara. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t care—we were only going hiking, not salsa dancing!—but here’s the problem with meeting a man at your former babysitter’s/art teacher’s/next door neighbor’s wedding: people tend to look better-than-usual at weddings. And people tend to look better-than-usual when they go salsa dancing as well, and when they agree to meet for dinner a month later.
Long story short, this was the first time The Wedding Date would be seeing me wearing something other than a cocktail dress and high heels. (Actually, I wore jeans on our second date, but they were skinny jeans paired with my high heeled boots.)
If you’re going to go begin the descent from semi-formal into everyday wear, you’ve got to do it gradually—you don’t want to be all glam one day and just-rolled-out-of-bed the next—but there is nothing gradual about my descent on Friday.
It’s been one of those “F*ck, I’ve just spilled the f*cking hot chocolate all over the counter!” sort of mornings and between all of the “F*ck, where is my coat???” and the “F*ck! Where did I put the directions!” I barely manage to stab a pair of chopsticks through my hair before I head out, let alone apply a proper coat of mascara.
I’m half expecting The Wedding Date to go running in the other direction when he sees me, especially as I’ve already had to call him to complete the requisite “I think I made a wrong turn” damsel-in-distress routine, but he’s simply standing in front of his house with his cell phone and when I finally do emerge, he greets me with a kiss.
- Hiking, The Wedding Date and My Mother, the Fortune Teller (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)
- T-Minus 4 Days… If I Live to Tell (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)
- The Rest of the Story with Date #7 (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)