Steven is new in the ward. After spotting him on Sunday and initially thinking he is a solid 3 on the Marriage Potential Scale, Scarlett and I decide to plant ourselves right behind him and his cute friend during the Sunday School lesson. Sure enough, Brother So-and-So starts the lesson off by having us introduce ourselves to someone that we don’t already know and, much to my satisfaction, Steven and Friend's cute faces turn around and politely make their introductions.
A couple Sundays later, Steven asks me for seven important numbers, and I allow said numbers to be distributed into a beat-up flip phone (time to update that, bro.)
The following weekend, Steven texts me and invites me to go have dinner with him at 6:30. All would be well, except for one teensy problem: It’s already 6:00.
Now, if you want to take me out on a date and ensure that I begin the date resenting you as little as humanly possible, there are some things you need to know.
If it’s a Saturday and I don’t have to go out into the world with my fellow humans (which is usually the case on lovely Saturdays, hence they are my favie), I can pretty much guarantee you that I spent the ENTIRE day inside wearing my Indianapolis Colts pajama-jams, hunched over my laptop studying for an upcoming exam/writing a boring essay/doing something else that makes me feel smarter and more productive. Or maybe I’m just watching reruns of Saved By the Bell.
Oh, and did I mention I didn't shower? Because yeah, I totally didn't.
Oh, and did I mention I didn't shower? Because yeah, I totally didn't.
That being said, if your sweet little LDS man-brain wants to take me out on a Saturday night, do yourself a favor and ask me at least an hour beforehand. Or, better yet, ask me the day before (gasp, what a novel idea).
It’s not because I’m super busy or want to trick you into thinking that I have a social life beyond waiting around for date requests (because I don’t)… it’s because I don’t want to look like Sloppy McRagamuffin when you take me out. (I’m doing this for you—you’re welcome.)
Already, Steven has seriously thrown me off, but I don’t like to refuse people and I decide that I need to be more flexible--I agree to the date.
We go out to eat and the second we sit down, I realize that being picked up slightly frazzled was just the beginning.
I’m going to take a wild guess and say that this “wasn’t Steven’s first rodeo”. All of the questions that are coming out of his mouth are ones that could only have been formed after years and years of practice of Date Small-Talk… I soon realize he is fluent in the language while I am forced to drown in this unfamiliar territory. Suddenly, I’m racking my brain for answers… What five movies would I take with me on a desert island? This is like asking a parent to pick a favorite child… WHY IS HE DOING THIS TO ME?
I can't even eat my food like a normal person because I am becoming increasingly paranoid that I am going to say something stupid, not to mention every time I take a big mouthful, he has thrown the next question at me like a dang ninja star coming to destroy my confidence.
I end up sitting through an entire dinner of this awkward third degree questioning, including countless other "desert island" brain busters that I have NOT prepared charming answers for. Hmph.
Needless to say, Steven put me on the spot in more ways than one on this fateful Saturday evening. Maybe this is part of a terribly difficult process of weeding out the ones that can't take the heat? If so, I think I'm officially weed-whacked after that date. Zing.
The moral of the story? Always be prepared, like the scouts might say. Be prepared to answer ridiculous questions, be prepared to be uncomfortable, and make an attempt at being available on short notice so as to avoid missing dating opportunities (maybe invest in some dry shampoo for those lazy Saturdays...)
Melly
I can't even eat my food like a normal person because I am becoming increasingly paranoid that I am going to say something stupid, not to mention every time I take a big mouthful, he has thrown the next question at me like a dang ninja star coming to destroy my confidence.
I end up sitting through an entire dinner of this awkward third degree questioning, including countless other "desert island" brain busters that I have NOT prepared charming answers for. Hmph.
Needless to say, Steven put me on the spot in more ways than one on this fateful Saturday evening. Maybe this is part of a terribly difficult process of weeding out the ones that can't take the heat? If so, I think I'm officially weed-whacked after that date. Zing.
The moral of the story? Always be prepared, like the scouts might say. Be prepared to answer ridiculous questions, be prepared to be uncomfortable, and make an attempt at being available on short notice so as to avoid missing dating opportunities (maybe invest in some dry shampoo for those lazy Saturdays...)
Melly
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