Long ago and far away, I was 24 and single. From this side of marriage and 30, 24 and
single really does seem long ago and far away.
I'd been single for two years following a breakup that truly
rocked my world. My highschool girlfriend. We'd been together for over 5 years,
and I didn't allow myself to see it coming. Hindsight really is 20/20.
So, I was "putting myself out there."
At least, I was if you counted sleeping with older women and
drinking and dancing with a bunch of gay men until all hours.
One day after work, I was at happy hour with a bunch of
friends from work. One of them was
recently divorced and had decided that she wanted to start dating again—she wanted
to try match.com.
She looked around the table at all of us. Two were in serious relationships. One was pregnant. She looked at me and said, “I don’t want to
do it alone—Molly, you should do it with me.”
I hesitated. I didn’t
have the best online dating track record, but it had been a year since I’d
tried and I had never done match.com. I
agreed. I told her that I’d sign up for
the free trial, but that I wasn’t paying for the site.
That night, we went home, signed up, and created our
profiles. On my blog, I posted the
My first match.com date stood me up. Honestly, I deserved it because I had it in
my oversized egotistical head that she wasn’t good enough for me, anyway. Plus, there was zero physical attraction
based on her photos.
Then came my second date. Before the date, I wrote:
…Speaking of tomorrow,
I have a date tomorrow night. One with
martinis and candlelight instead of coffee and baristas.
I think martini dates
are my favorite kind. Or at least, AMONG
my favorite kind.
Tomorrow's chica is a
softball playing, Shakespeare reading, high school teacher. And she's my age. There's a first. (Maybe not a first, but pretty damn close!)
So tomorrow. Martinis.
Casual outdoor bar… very dark… mostly candlelight. What's a girl to wear?
Shortly before our date, I posted the following:
I was nervous as hell.