Wednesday, February 10, 2010

dating definitions.

In honor of the holiday I love the least, this week I’m sharing some of my own relationship mishaps (relationship is a term to be used, in this case, very loosely). If nothing else, these stories remind me: Thank goodness I married Jordan.


My first real date happened at the end of my eleventh grade year. He took me to see that Queen Latifa classic Bringing Down the House. Even Steve Martin couldn’t save that film—or the date, for that matter.

Three months after that first date came my first (and, come to think of it, only) break-up. I remember my mother asking if I wanted to cry.

I said no.

What can I say? When a guy comes back from a mission trip changed (read: interested in someone else), there’s not much to be done. And I certainly wasn’t going to cry over it.

Besides, I was becoming friends with someone else, and I had high hopes. Phil* was nice, and he actually seemed to enjoy my company. For a nerd, this was huge. Phil and I hung out at the youth group Christmas party (this is as lame as it sounds), and on the way home, he asked me if I wanted to go see a movie.

It was just what I had thought getting asked on a date would feel like. Finally. A real date. (My elation may have had something to do with the fact that Phil was a football player. Even nerds have their weaknesses.)

I said yes. We decided to go on a Sunday afternoon after church. His family drove into Tallahassee each Sunday from out of town, so we decided to just meet at the movie theatre. (This, by the way, was a breaking of my cardinal rule: A date is only a date when the event is paid for by the guy and when the car is driven by the guy.** Ladies, it’s a rule that works. You’d do well to follow it.)

I was at home eating Sunday lunch and preparing for my date (amidst relentless teasing from my family) when Phil called.

He wanted to make sure I understood that his sister would be coming to the movie. Would Chet like to come too?

My elation quickly became humiliation. The devil is indeed in the details, details that I apparently had overlooked. I remember thinking: This is what comes from reading books and missing out on life. You think you are going on a date when really, you’re hanging out with your friend and his sister. I don’t even remember what I said, but I grabbed Chet, forced him to ride with me, and explained to him on the drive to the theatre how guys should treat girls. I hope it’s a conversation that stuck.

I would like to say that when we arrived at the theatre, I at least sat with Phil. But I did not. I sat with his sister. Awkwardness permeated the room.

And that was that.

Months later, I was informed through the youth group grapevine (what, you didn’t have one?) that Phil did in fact, like me. He called and asked me to the movies. I said yes. I also wound up driving. You know what that means—still no real date. (Because there doesn’t even need to be a rule to explain that siblings don’t go on real dates.)

When spring of my senior year hit, Phil let me know that he wanted to take me to our church’s senior banquet. I said yes.

He never followed through, and I took my best friend as my date.

We had a fabulous time, and I don’t regret a thing.

Except maybe for not slapping Phil in the face. And for amending my own dating definitions for the center of a high school football team.

*Names changed to protect the semi-innocent.

** This is why middle schoolers cannot successfully date. Parents, please listen to me on this.

{This post inspired by this hilarious lady.}

1 comment:

Jordan Jones said...

Wow...this cracked me up. Especially your ** footnote at the end. :)