How (Not) to Behave on a First Date

Something funny happened this week: a man made the mistake of asking me out.

As to what happened after that, well…it’s still a bit of a tender topic. It turns out there are some things so humiliating, even I can’t laugh about them. Yet. But the whole nerve-wracking situation did get me to thinking: Is this how adults date? As I creep towards full-fledged “adulthood,” is this the sort of scenario I need to be more prepared for?

OK, let me back up a second. It’s not like I’ve NEVER been on a date before. I so have. Post-sex McDonald’s runs count as dates, yes? Just kidding, Mom. I make them buy me McDonald’s before sex, cuz I keeps it classy.

In all seriousness, though…every guy I’ve dated, I met through mutual friends, at a party or in class. I hung out with them in a larger group long before I ever went out with them, on anything resembling a date. So no, actually, I’ve never been seriously asked out to dinner by someone who knows me not at all.

And so when I refer to this “nerve-wracking situation,” I don’t mean the date itself; I’m very good at most traditional date-like activities (that is to say, eating, drinking, and talking about myself). I mean the idea of going on a date with a near stranger, and having to give this stranger the best possible impression of myself in a few short hours. To me, that’s intimidating as fuck.

I always assumed this was how adults dated – I just don’t consider myself an adult quite yet. And the naïve guy who asked me out? He’s for sure an adult. Like, at least 30, has a beard and a job and probably a stock portfolio (…I’m guessing on that one), and is a full-fledged adult man-person.

Me, on the other hand? 21 year old student, receives weekly allowance from parents, has a collection of plastic tiaras, talks to cat, sleeps with multiple stuffed cats, underwear drawer is in rainbow order, still writes in dragon diary every night…you know what? You get the point. I’m an idiot, and probably deserve to be in middle school. In fact, that would be nice, because my popularity actually peaked in middle school orchestra. No, seriously. It did.

Don’t let that little ginger smile fool you: I RAN SHIT.

This dude was, however, an apparently normal person, and for whatever reason, he did call me and ask me out. I’m not sure what he saw in me that night. Was it the way I dug voraciously into my happy hour steak? Was it my impressive ability to down endless G&Ts and maintain my weary scowl? Was it my sassy combination of wool cardigan and knee-high boots, which I like to call “Slutty Grandma?”

Who am I kidding, it was probably my biiig heart.

Alright, I’m getting off-track. Now I realize that the point of dates, especially first dates, is to get to know someone, and that if you don’t click, then that’s that. I’m not advocating pretending to be someone else. But if you’re anything like me – a horrifying mixture of crotchety old person and 12-year-old asshole – then I am advocating a little bit of self-censorship.

On that note, here are some things I was expressly told NOT to talk about:

Getting kicked out of Disneyland: I mean, no matter how you spin it…that just doesn’t look good.

My taste in music: which is universally acknowledged to be bad. All I'm sayin' is, there's a time and a place for Jingle Cats.

My real cat, or any of my stuffed cats: Maybe next time I’ll just get it over with and bring a few along. Jane Pawsten would fit easily into my purse, but Emily Lickinson is a cheaper date…

Harry Potter: all of my friends were very clear about this. I was not to mention The Boy Who Lived more than once. Twice. I forget.

Any stories involving vomit: OK, yes, I have thrown up on two different guys. But take my word for it – they both had it coming.

Sex: I kept repeating it to myself: Don’t talk about guys I’ve had sex with. Don’t even talk about having sex at all. Definitely don’t make jokes about having sex. But then I saw a flyer with Jimmy John’s new motto, and all was lost.

Let us agree to disagree, sir.

Other things that emphasize my immaturity: including, just for starters; fights with parents, weekly allowance, fanfiction, seeing P!NK in concert, bad Lord of the Rings puns, “That’s What She Said,” and laughing at the word “taint.” Which I definitely didn’t. Hehe…taint.

Aw, fuck it. Dear Bearded Bartender, if you ever read this: I am so, so sorry. You should’ve known better.