If, five or six months ago, someone had said to me, “Katie, you have a choice: you can go on a date with a nice man and it might or might not lead to something wonderful, but you will have a pleasant evening, OR, you can have your eyeballs sanded down with a rotary-sander and some nice 80 grit,” I would have gone for the 80 grit. A pleasant evening? That’s fine. It’s the “might lead to something wonderful” I’d like to avoid. I know how “something wonderful” ends, and it’s a lot like having your eyeballs sanded with a rotary-sander. Why not cut to the chase?
This time, though, I went for four-inch high heels, new lipstick, and the nice man. I could tell you about all the arguments for and against dating that have gone ’round in my head for months, but what it comes down to is this: he’s the first man to interest me in a very, very long time.
And so I went on a date last week.
It was only a first date, but it was a very, very nice first date.
After spending hours and hours laughing and talking with him on the phone, I should not have been surprised when our first date held even more laughing and talking. And yet I am.
He brought me roses.
He is a lovely mix of kindness, quiet strength, intelligence and humor.
I am looking forward to seeing him again.
And that is all I’m going to say about my date. First dates need to be kept in perspective, even when it isn’t one’s inclination to do so.
That there was a date at all, though, is kind of a big deal, isn’t it?