The First Date

The New Viking sent flowers.

We had been emailing each other quite a bit this week, and we spoke a few times as well on the phone. We clearly got along quite well. But when the flowers arrived at my office yesterday afternoon, it was an entirely delightful surprise. And one that I didn't read too much into, either, which was one of his concerns. The sweetly worded note showed that it was just a simple gesture, not a grand romantic offering (which would have scared me off).

We had already made plans to see each other this weekend, but...I mean, come on, he sent flowers! So I rang him up, thanked him profusely, and invited him to dinner at Marix that night.

So it was our first date. My first real date (unless you count Boston Jeff) since the breakup, and therefore my first date since 1999, when I met the Ex.

We had a great time. He was as charming and handsome as I remembered. I wasn't a messy bundle of nerves. I was just excited. I had made a promise to myself that I would be completely honest with him, so when the conversation moved into certain topics (circuit parties, steroids) I was forthcoming. I'm not saying that I know for certain that we're going to have a significant dating relationship, but I do know that he's definitely a keeper, the kind of guy I would want to go out with. At the very least, I have made a new friend. And I didn't want to imagine him, down the line, coming at me with "You never told me you did steroids." That would just not be acceptable to me. Best to get it all out there in the first week while he still thinks I'm cute.

(Yeah, he thinks I look like an Abercrombie boy. His words. I would have said "Aging Twinkie" but...)

Three pitchers of margaritas were consumed. Neither one of us needed that last one, of course (or the second one for that matter, on a school night), but I for one simply didn't want the date to end.