Valentine’s Day is just around the corner and the air is filled with romance, right? Well, technically around here the air is filled with the flu. This fact got me thinking about romance gone awry.
Then I read an article on The Seven Worst First Dates of Film and it got me thinking about my own first dates.
I was never much of a dater – at least not one-on-one. I did what I called group dating – my boyfriend de jour and I would go out with a group of our friends to movies, dances, dinner, etc.
But one first date did come to mind. It was with my now-husband when we were still in college. We had actually start seeing each other a month or so earlier after a late night party, but we had kept that fact mum from our friends.
We hung out in a group of six – my husband, me, three other guys and this girl that had a crush on my husband. Therefore, we kept our budding relationship a secret for a while. Whenever we were out with the group, which was most of the time, we just kept our hands to ourselves. Then we’d spend late nights getting to know each other.
However, at some point we finally went public. I don’t remember exactly when or what triggered the revelation. But it was clear – it was time for us to have our first “official” date. And now we had the pressure of all our friends waiting to see how it turned out.
Ever the jokester, my husband spent that entire week telling everyone that on Saturday night he was going to take me to the 7-11 (yes, the convenience store) for dinner. We would enjoy hotdogs while sitting on the curb. And just because he was romantic, he would knock out the streetlight for better ambiance.
Needless to say that wasn’t the intended date, but it eased the questions we got at the keg party Friday night.
Saturday morning he was headed to the mountains for a ride with some friends (he’s an avid mountain biker) and then he was suppose to pick me up at six.
I knew he had away of letting time slip by him when he was on his bike, so I wasn’t surprised when the phone rang at 5:45. He was calling to tell me that they had just gotten back from the trip; he’d shower, have one beer with the guys and be right over.
Never, ever believe a guy when he says “one beer” with the guys. It didn’t help that he was at the same house where the keg party was the night before. Well, needless to say one beer turned into a campaign to finish off the keg.
It was nearly an hour and a half before I heard from him again – another call promising that he was definitely on his way this time. By eight, he’d finally arrived reeking of beer.
Naturally, I drove us to the restaurant. We had, of course, lost our reservation. But by then most of the college clientele were already on their way to a party so we had no trouble getting a table.
The rest of the evening went fine. He slurred his speech a little as he apologized profusely. And it wasn’t long after dinner before he passed out on my couch.
Now I know you’re wondering why I even let him in when he finally arrived or why I ever saw him again after that. The truth is I had already fallen for him head over heels.
But at least now I can always hang over him the fact that he was two hours late for our first date.
I know there are far more disastrous first date tales out there. So spill, what was your worst first date?