It was time. I had finally moved on from the worst breakup of my life and was ready to try this whole ‘relationship’ thing again.
We had met a few weeks before through mutual friends. He was devilishly handsome with a strong southern accent to boot. I was a goner from the start. After randomly meeting up with friends over the course of a couple of weeks, he finally asked me out on an official date. I was ecstatic, though nervous. I hadn’t been on a first date in almost two years.
I thought I was screwed.
The night finally arrived and I could only have been more prepared if I had brought conversation cue cards. He showed up at my house, met my adorable new puppy, and headed off to my favorite restaurant for dinner.
The conversation went swimmingly. There were no awkward pauses. He told me I looked beautiful. I managed to not spill food in my lap or say something completely asinine. This date was going to be a success! I just knew it.
After dinner, we took a walk along the water. He continued to compliment. I continued to swoon like a fifteen year old out with the starting quarterback. We eventually headed back to the car for him to drop me off at home.
That’s when the nerves really kicked in.
The endings of first dates are perhaps the most nerve-wracking moments during a person’s life. Kiss or no kiss? Invite in or politely end the date at the door? There are many options that must be determined telepathically. It is a miracle more first dates don’t end in panic attacks.
Once we arrived at my house, I still hadn’t decided what I was going to do. As we walked to my front door, I stole a glance inside and gasped in complete and utter horror.
Do you remember the adorable puppy that my date met earlier that evening? That sweet chunk of fur had decided to poop throughout the entire lower floor of my house. Poop was everywhere!
I turned my back to the doors, forcing my body to expand so he couldn’t see inside. I looked at his face and realized he hadn’t seen a thing. There was still a chance to get through this. I quickly thanked him for a wonderful evening, gave him a curt peck on the cheek, and informed him I had some things to take care of for work, but I would love to see him again. He looked at me strangely and nodded. He was probably trying to figure out what a bartender would have to do from home at midnight. I chose not to explain. I grinned like an idiot until he got into his car and went inside to greet my ‘adorable’ dead-meat puppy.
I spent the remainder of my evening cleaning the carpets while thinking of all the ways I could kill my dog. I didn’t think he would ever call me again.
Well, he did call and we went out on a couple more dates. His spell over me had waned, however, and he eventually ditched me for the waitress he had been eyeing for months.
I like to think Wren caught a douche-vibe off him from the start. She was only looking out for me.
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