This is not a judgement against myself. It's a simple fact that you wonderful readers are intimately privy to. I have gone out with 99 losers, rejects, weirdos, geeks, throwbacks, and small fish. Jason is #100 but so far, in my book, he's #1.
I spend the three days after our Hobbit date thinking about him. Replaying the night over and over in my head. Wondering if it was real, or if I imagined how amazing he really was. I am pretty sure he put some sort of spell on me, like in Love Potion #9! How on Earth did I go from "Please don't let that be him!" to "Please don't let go?" Everybody says "It happens when you aren't looking" and maybe, just maybe, they're right.
Jason asks for a second date, this one slightly more sophisticated than our movie night. He wants to take me to dinner and he's happy to plan the whole thing. What night works better for me, Friday or Saturday? (Friday.) What time works better for me, 7 or 8 pm? (8:00) What cuisine do I prefer, French or seafood? (Seafood.) He writes back that he's made dinner reservations for Friday night at 8 pm at an upscale restaurant / swanky bar and I should wear a dress that makes me feel beautiful. He texts me the address and a smiley face with a note that says "Can't wait to see you again. You've been on my mind all week."
Swoon. Serious swoon.
I'm so used to guys taking me to Applebee's 2 for $20 that I don't entirely know what to do with myself! Real reservations at a super trendy restaurant? An actual meal with an actual man who actually likes me? Friday night can't come fast enough and I know exactly which dress I'll be wearing. It's a slinky deep purple that shows off my curves in all the right places. It's not something I've had the confidence to wear out before, but with a pair of little black patent leather heels, I feel more womanly than I do wearing anything else in my suburban closet. I blow out my shoulder length blonde hair, treat myself to a manicure in a subtle shade of nude, shave my legs, and spritz my favorite Victoria's Secret perfume on all the places a woman would want to be kissed, just like Elizabeth Taylor advised. I look stunning and I'm pretty darn proud of myself.
Please understand that this is not me being cocky. This is me making an effort. This is a huge change from the normal, everyday Kim who feels a tad Ugly Duckling on most days. Getting teased as a kid really beat my ego to a pulp, and I haven't completely recovered. I have been told that I tend to dress like a Soccer Mom, which isn't entirely inaccurate for my regular, everyday life. I look fabulous for trips into Manhattan, and I am always super cute for nights out with the girls, but there's just something special about wearing extra sparkly jewelry for a date with a man who is treating me to lobster and prosecco. He made me feel gorgeous when I wore a sweater and jeans on our first date, he deserves to see me in a sexy dress on our second.
I cannot for the life of me recall the details of this incredible Friday evening. I wish I could tell you all the sweet things he said, the meals we ordered, the topics of conversation. All I recall is holding Jason moving the napkins, silverware, glassware, candle, flowers, salt & pepper shakers etc so that we could hold hands across the table. I'm not sure we talked about anything at all. We may have just stared into each other's eyes for three whole hours.
Perhaps that's a slight exaggeration, but that's truly what it felt like. The entire meal flew by, and yet took forever. We talked about everything, and yet talked about nothing. We flirted blatantly, yet there were subtle nuances and innuendos. We were just getting to know each other, yet it felt like we'd already been together for months. Jason was a perfect gentleman, yet made it completely clear how much he appreciated my curves in that purple dress. It was an unforgettable night, yet I can't remember a thing about it.
I think that's how you know the date went well. Hunger is replaced with satisfaction. Memories are replaced with feelings. Fear is replaced with excitement. Loneliness is replaced with comfort. The emptiness in your heart is replaced with the other person's name.
For me, his name is Jason.