Trying to be casual. Trying. As if one really could be
casual in these situations. It’s a first meeting on crack. It’s a casual cup of
coffee or a cheap meal at gunpoint. There has got to be a better way to do this
but social norms insist that we continue in the tradition. A first date. No
combination of words inspires more awkward, sweaty palm type feelings. Your
stomach drops. Is it excitement ore the idea that one of you must carry a
conversation for at least a solid hour. This is assuming you both want to go
which many a “hot” girl could tell you is a wrong assumption. When the feeling
is not mutual, but pity is the inspiring feature, this date is only going one
way. Often times it is the weaker
sex that holds all the power in these delicate situations. Whoever decided to
give it to them in the first place is the bane of every man. Nothing can be
said outright… exactly. Hints are encouraged in this place. Guesses and God
forbid.. Flirting is encouraged here. If anyone could see themselves flirting
they would immediately throw up or fight themselves. Either equally violent
reactions would be appropriate. You could not be more aware of how un-funny
that joke was but you are required to not only a simple courtesy laugh which
would suffice anywhere else but to stand up, on the table point and scream that
you may in fact suffer from a respiratory failure if the thought of the joke is
even brought up again. After seeing yourself and wiping to vomit of your shoes
and washing the blood from you hands you realize: I have to do this. But lets
look back at the poor fellow who is in the pity date. He is looking at one of
two things: an overly interested constantly agreeing bobbing face or the back
of an i-phone. To every girl, the i-phone is a ten-foot brick wall that can
keep out even the most persistent of invaders. By keeping the phone constantly
at the face level of the intruder she can almost forget he is there. Almost.
The previous is almost certainly worse. I think I am hilarious. Ask me I will
tell you. But every conjunction that comes out of my mouth cannot possibly be
the most interesting thing YOU ever heard. Most certainly our overly
sympathized beau will leave this kind of meeting realizing just how stupid he
is for asking her in the first place. Now our suitor is not completely innocent
in this crime against humanity. He did ask her in the first place. He knew she
was “out of his league” but he gathered up the courage, whether liquid or
spiritual and crafted that immensely deep, full of longing text… “Hey”. That “hey” is the springboard. It is
Columbus’s Barcelona; a launching point. From this deep thought provoking plea
all else springs out. Now this particularly cynical view would not be complete
without observing a success story. The first date that begins a life, a
history. They both being the ordeal with a kind of giddiness that puts a child
sitting at the top of the stairs waiting to “come to see what Santa brought
you!” at a far second place. They tell anyone who will listen what is about to
happen, and for the weaker sex, the analyzing begins. The date is scripted to
say the least. It is a dance, it is sheet music, it is a full Broadway number.
It is metered and timed. The PhD’s of first dates will tell you exactly how
this will go and all is planned for accordingly. This is the female. Our hero
is shrouded in mystery. In all likelihood, every one of his roommates will come
to each proposed meeting place 4 times throughout the course of the night and
say what every bonehead is required to say to his friend clearly on a date,
“are you on a date”. Of course when our man returns home he will burry his
roommate accordingly. It would be wrong to say it is not awkward. It is. But
the silence tells the story. The silence is awkward, it is noticed, it is like an
elephant riding a rhino creating an “I just can not wait to be king” kind of
spectacle. But it is appreciated. The soon to be lovers stop, notice it and
realize that it is not words that should fill the silence, but each other.
