Writer's Workshop: First Dates

I had a problem deciding on a writing prompt this week. On the one hand, I really had something to say about other people's parenting styles (ha!!)

BUT!

I long to entertain you, so today I bring you ... a "memorable first date". Or two. I love to hear you laugh that much.

First, background. I was with my ex for several years, and we broke up in July of 2002. I had my first date with my husband in December of 2002.

Between them, I had a few first dates.

The first, I'll call Adolf. I'm calling him that because I really have blocked his name from my mind.

I met Adolf online, at a time where people were really starting to meet people online but there weren't those nifty dating web sites. There was AOL. I honestly cannot remember how we started talking, but he thought it was great that I loved German culture, and was studying the German language. He said he was German, blah blah blah. (Let me now mention that the reason I was so interested in German was because I listened to an online radio station called Radio Salue, and they played awesome music but I couldn't understand what they said in between the songs. I took German for the sole purpose of understanding my favorite radio station. Yes, I'm a nerd.)

Anyhow, after a bit, we decided to meet at the local Steak n Shake.

Oh. My. Lord.

Over fries, I got to hear about how horrible the French are, and how great the Germans are, how Hitler was misunderstood. Over shakes, I heard about how he worked at Walmart because The Man was keeping him down.

I still occasionally expect to see him on the news.

****
Number two of my Summer O' Love was "T".

I also met T online (obviously, I needed to stay off line.) He told me his name was Taylor. He was younger (19) but he seemed fun. Young, but fun. But young.

So I went over to his house, where he lived with His Parents. Who weren't home, but I was wandering around the house looking at toddler photos and crayon drawings done by a little boy named Trevor.

Who's Trevor? Your brother?

No, Trevor is me. I changed it to Taylor when I got to college. I liked how it sounded. Call me Taylor.

I couldn't bear to call him Taylor anymore, so he was T from that exact moment on.

I should have stopped there, but he was fun. Just young. Instead we hung out some more outside his house, where he showed me his Rockin' Car. He had a Miata.

A Miata. I probably shouldn't have laughed at him, but at the time I hadn't met anyone with a penis who drove a Miata.

I should have stopped there, but he was fun (although young) and he came over to my house to watch movies (relax, my roommates were home).

We watched movies all night. Romantic comedies, that he picked.

And then he wanted to kiss me. So he LICKED MY CHEEK. I kid you not -- not a small lick, but a long lick like a giant Saint Bernard. Wet, and oozy.

(T wasn't near this cute)

And that was where I had enough of that. And just to show God had a sense of humor, it stormed during our Ro-Com extravaganza, and T left the top down on his little white Miata.

***

Thankfully, I started dating my would-be husband a short time later. I'm not entirely sure I would have lasted in a dating pool populated with such stellar quality guys. I may have drowned.

For more writers' workshop entries, go visit Mama Kat!

(photo credits via Google images)