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We all know girls can be harder to read than James Joyce. Just some straight up Ulysses. And yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was hard to read at times. But one place I’ve always felt that I had a firm grasp on has been reading a first date. Before the date, no idea. Middle of the courtship? Call me Alicia Silverstone because your boy is clueless. But first dates? I can feel it. I know whether I should text her again or not.
Not now, though. At the moment, I’m bamboozled. I liked this girl, so I will text her…I just have NO idea what reaction to expect.
I went out with this girl last night – met her on J-Swipe, nbd – and immediately I knew this wouldn’t be my typical first date. First thing’s first, she was better looking than in her pictures. Which is bonkers, because you always assume the person is worse looking than their pictures. But not her. It was like she had been showing me her get-me-over fastball and when she showed up she was throwing Randy Johnson heaters. 11/10 would bang. Not that I was complaining, but right off the bat, I was thrown for a loop.
“Don’t blow this, loud mouth,” I said to myself.
We sat down – in a private little room in the expensive sushi restaurant that I can’t get enough of – and as soon as we did, my glasses started fogging up. Why? No idea. Warmth, I guess. I give off heat like a damn radiator. And for some reason, I decided not to take my glasses off after work. So the glasses started fogging up.
Smooth like fucking sandpaper.
She didn’t order a drink; I panicked and botched a cold sake order.
Shit, does she not drink?
“I don’t drink on weeknights, because I’m into work by 6,” she noted.
Jeez, does she have fields to till? Did I just look like an A1 schmuck for ordering a drink when she didn’t?
Things probably could have been off to a better start.
But daddy rebounded and in no time I was cracking jokes. And hey! She was laughing. At me? At my jokes? I couldn’t tell. And that’s the problem. Because normally I can tell if they really actually do like the humor, or if they’re nervous laughing and don’t actually think I’m funny.
So the date went pretty well, I guess. I had fun, she was throwing fastballs all night, and I thought I brought some B+ jokes. Would have been A+ jokes but her white pants kind of numbed my pre-frontal cortex.
And then, as the date dwindled down, I sort of did some internal reflection. Like a self-assessment but the date wasn’t over. Because I honestly couldn’t figure out if this girl was into me or not. Normally, it’s no problem. I either don’t have it on the date – and she won’t want to see me again – or I do have it, and a second date is not something I’d fret over. But not this one. Maybe I’m not good at reading signs. Maybe I read into them too much! Is playing with the hair good, and playing with a necklace bad? It’s all signals, Jerry, signals.
It was a tale of two dates. I started out of the box slow, doing my best impersonation of Kevin James’s character in Hitch. But I picked up some steam and became, well, maybe still Kevin James in Hitch, but after a few dates with that heiress. A little more confident, a little less rumbling bumbling stumbling. So at the end of it all, I wasn’t sure where I stood. Normally, girls either can’t stand my personality, or they dig it. Last night, the jury is still out. And it’s an uneasy feeling. But I got to be honest, this not knowing of where I stand with her? It’s exciting. It’s getting the juices flowing. It’s why we lace ’em up every day..