The door bell rings. My stomach does flip flops. There’s time for one last check of myself in the mirror. I take a deep breath and open the door to reveal my date. “You look beautiful,” he says. A smile brushes my lips and I can barely look him in the eye. My heart starts racing like someone who’s had one too many double shots of espresso on an empty stomach. I’m warm behind my knees and my palms are a little sweaty.
Is there anything as exciting as a first date?
The conversation flows easily during dinner. We practically stumble over ourselves, racing to share our funniest stories…our histories…our victories and defeats. Is there anyone more interesting… more fascinating…more full of potential than a guy on a first date?
He walks me to my door at the end of the evening. I fumble with my keys. The tension is palpable. We both know what comes next. But some part of me hopes for time to be suspended in this moment … in the second just before.
He looks at me a bit more seriously. I can’t see anything but his big blue eyes and the grey hair at his temples. The world behind him – behind me – has vanished. He bends his head just a bit…I notice a catch in my breath…his hands touch my face – and we kiss. Perfection!
But what happens after that first kiss? After kiss one hundred and one? One thousand and one?
Is this perfect man going to morph into a beer-slugging, sheet stealing, sloppy, pouty, leave the toilet seat up kind of guy? I want to know now because I can’t abide any of those things.
Maybe I’m not cut out for relationships after all. Maybe I’m just addicted to first dates.