If my life were a romantic comedy, I think I would want Rebel Wilson to play me. There would be random musical numbers and John Hughes would come back from the grave to write and direct it. There would be several portrayals of terrible and ridiculous dates. Then there would be one that goes something like this……
We meet for dinner at a small, crowded and loud Korean fried chicken restaurant. He orders a platter of delicious drum sticks to share. Obnoxious pop music plays slightly too loudly over the speakers and the teens at the table next to us are singing along. We chat until the chicken arrives and then eat in relative silence, except for the “good food” noises we make while smearing sauce all over our faces. I give him the last drumstick that I can’t eat and then we wipe off our faces and giggle about how quickly we devoured the food.
He pays the bill and we decide to leave because it’s too loud to really talk. Meandering into the parking lot toward our cars, both of us are lingering trying to desperately think of something else we can do. I suggest we go for a walk up and down the sidewalk, if he’s comfortable walking down a dark street at night with a girl he doesn’t know, that is. He agrees and we meander down the lamp-lit street until the sky suddenly opens up and it starts pouring rain on us. Quickly we dash into the closest shelter: a cozy bus stop.
We decide to wait out the storm by sitting and talking and watching the lightning. We talk about everything from grad school to photography to sex to online dating. He tells me this is only the second date he’s been on all year, and I’m shocked because it’s October and he’s saying and doing all the right things. He’s slowly scooted closer to me until our hands, resting on the bus stop bench are subtly brushing against each other. As we keep talking, he smoothly slides his hand over mine and interlocks our fingers. I blush like an inexperienced school girl and he asks if it’s okay to be holding my hand. I nod shyly (because in a movie, I would be incredibly shy on dates, of course) and we continue talking.
The conversation gradually comes to a comfortable lull until we’re just sitting close to each other, holding hands and trying to share body heat. He looks at me and says suddenly, “Can I….”
“Can you what?” (Of course I know what he wants!)
“Well, I was just wondering if I could?”
“Hmmm?” (Trying to feign excitement of course.)
Then he cups the back of my head with his hand and kisses me tentatively until I start kissing him back. Lightning strikes and thunder rolls and it’s basically just your typical romance movie scene.
I’m all stupidly giddy because this is EXACTLY what every woman wants a first date to be like, and it’s a perfect first kiss. He’s stupidly giddy because, let’s face it, he’s kissing a total babe.
We kiss a little longer, until we’re both too cold to enjoy ourselves. Holding hands, we make a mad dash, tripping though the rain to his car. Over the next couple of hours, we fog up the windows, only partly due to his heater and our wet clothes. We talk, kiss, and get to know each other. Discussing grad school and thesis writing, he jokingly tells me that he loves it when I “talk academic” to him. We bond over little things.
Before I reluctantly climb out of his car to head home, since it’s waaaaaaaaay passed my bed time, he asks me for a second date, which of course I agree to. I climb out of his nice warm car and hop into mine, take few minute to collect myself, and then drive home.
He would undoubtedly call/text/email/fax/smoke signal me the next day. No doubt he would profess his undying love and affection for me. Then we would drive off into the sky in his classic convertible and live happily ever after.
Unfortunately, instead of calling me the next day, he totally flaked out and claimed that he was working hard on his graduate school thesis and trying to stay home as much as possible. That means he just couldn’t take me on that second date he so wanted to.
Right. I’m just saying… I’m naïve, but even I know when I’ve gotten played. I didn’t hear from him after that, so clearly my life isn’t a rom com after all.