Hindsight is 20/20
First of all, let me just express my overabundant excitement that my dear friend, The Romantic, is home. I am so happy! Every time I talk to her, I have to apologize for being so happy. Although I wish that she could finish her mission and not deal with these health problems, I am inherently selfish and rejoice in the fact that my life gets to be blessed by her presence once again."Selfishness must always be forgiven you know, because there is no hope of a cure."
-Jane Austen
With that being said, let's get down to business (to defeat the Huns!). It took him long enough, but Clive finally asked me out. He must have succumbed to my penetrating meaningful look. The blessed event took place last Friday, and I am excited to have a date story for you all at long last.
Since it has been a week since our date, and the initial "power surge" of it all has, for the meantime, worn off, my intent is to invite you all into the "before and after" mechanical workings of my mind.
Before:
I arrived home at 11:30pm on Friday, and commenced to run my mental eyes over every inch of the date that had just moments before ended in (what seemed to me) the tenderest of all post-date hugs given to me by a man. Strong and purposeful, yet not lingering. I slipped into my sweats and Napoleon Dynamite socks and described in vivid, gory detail every moment of the date to my ever-so-patient roommate. I was enthralled. Every time he put his hand on my back, or leaned in close to whisper something to me, was nothing short of magical.
And for the first time in a very long time, a man took genuine interest in my life and what I had to say about it. Between Clive and I, we crossed oceans-worth of good conversation. We discussed everything from Shakespeare to traumatic childhood experiences, and not once was it dull. Not once did I have the desire to escape. It was incredibly refreshing. It was like taking a spoonful of sugar, yes, after the medicine has gone down.
Oh, and then there was the post-"scheduled"-date movie. How intimate. The potentiality! We settled on the couch neither dangerously close, nor too obviously apart. As the plot of the of the movie progressed, Clive was raging a battle of his own. Throughout the movie, he would laugh and as he did so, his hand (his large and beautifully manly hand!) would find its way creeping along the edge of "The Danger Zone" wherein he could easily scoop my hand up with his and commence. . .holding my hand. Instead of playing 90/10, Clive was playing 75/25. I can go 10, but I can't possibly go 25! It's much too forward. This aggravating game was played for a full hour and twenty-three minutes.
With that being said, let's get down to business (to defeat the Huns!). It took him long enough, but Clive finally asked me out. He must have succumbed to my penetrating meaningful look. The blessed event took place last Friday, and I am excited to have a date story for you all at long last.
Since it has been a week since our date, and the initial "power surge" of it all has, for the meantime, worn off, my intent is to invite you all into the "before and after" mechanical workings of my mind.
Before:
I arrived home at 11:30pm on Friday, and commenced to run my mental eyes over every inch of the date that had just moments before ended in (what seemed to me) the tenderest of all post-date hugs given to me by a man. Strong and purposeful, yet not lingering. I slipped into my sweats and Napoleon Dynamite socks and described in vivid, gory detail every moment of the date to my ever-so-patient roommate. I was enthralled. Every time he put his hand on my back, or leaned in close to whisper something to me, was nothing short of magical.
And for the first time in a very long time, a man took genuine interest in my life and what I had to say about it. Between Clive and I, we crossed oceans-worth of good conversation. We discussed everything from Shakespeare to traumatic childhood experiences, and not once was it dull. Not once did I have the desire to escape. It was incredibly refreshing. It was like taking a spoonful of sugar, yes, after the medicine has gone down.
Oh, and then there was the post-"scheduled"-date movie. How intimate. The potentiality! We settled on the couch neither dangerously close, nor too obviously apart. As the plot of the of the movie progressed, Clive was raging a battle of his own. Throughout the movie, he would laugh and as he did so, his hand (his large and beautifully manly hand!) would find its way creeping along the edge of "The Danger Zone" wherein he could easily scoop my hand up with his and commence. . .holding my hand. Instead of playing 90/10, Clive was playing 75/25. I can go 10, but I can't possibly go 25! It's much too forward. This aggravating game was played for a full hour and twenty-three minutes.
This was me for a whole three days after our date:
After:
The week went by, and I didn't hear from Clive. Not only did I not hear from him, I didn't even see him. The effect was somewhat devastating, leading to this quite irrational initial reaction:
However, I quickly gathered myself together and then analyzed the date from my new perspective.
The conversation on the date was good, there was no denying that. It had the slightest hint of "first date" which was inevitable, but overall good. Although sometimes it seemed that Clive was a little more interested in the food than he was in me. This is forgivable and understandable, some people just tap into their inner fat kid when under pressure. So I can therefore give this portion of the date a low A or high B at least.
As I reminisced about the movie, I realized that Clive probably had no intentions of holding my hand that night. I know he is a slow mover. His laugh must simply cause his hands to go shooting out from his body, and since my hand was nearby, it was a simple mistake. As for the hug, there was no special intention behind it. It was the obligatory post-date hug. Meh.
So, very much like The Bluestocking, I have slowly waded my way into the neutrality zone. The epidemic is indeed spreading. Meh again.
Con Amor,
The Lady
3 comments:
I love this. The Anti-Austens have this ridiculous talent for describing everything I feel in real words (as opposed to the squeals and jumping up and down- my usual MO for talking about boys). You guys are awesome. True story.
um...it's elinor dashwood....
My favourite part of this whole entry, other than your perfect depictions of a girls over-analyzation/reaction after a date is this "His laugh must simply cause his hands to go shooting out from his body.." HAHA This Clive fellow and his shooting hands...HAHA
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