I feel like everyone has been blogging about dating, so I’m going to jump on the bandwagon for one post, and one post only (because this is just slightly not my forte). I am about going to write about my extensive list of “Dating Don’ts”, from personal experience. I think if you follow this list, you will probably be married by the end of the year. The list, as follows:
- Don’t date a person who is just coming to realize he/she may or may not be attracted to a member of your sex. Key phrases to avoid here are “Is this unfair to you?”, “I’m confused”, and “Shh, let’s not tell anyone about this”.
- Don’t run away from potential suitor.
‘Nuff said about the first one. Let me explain that second one.
The first Thursday of every month, the gay women (aka, pride pack) of Dallas have a guerrilla take-over of an otherwise straight bar. I’ve been to this happy hour three times, and 75% of me looks forward to it while the other 25% is riddled with social anxiety.
The 40% of me panicked at April’s happy hour, and broke the cardinal rule of “not running away”. Basically, I said something out loud I definitely thought I had said within my own head. This is how it all went down:
My lezbro, Hayley, and I were scoping out the room like tigers hunting their prey; albeit, less subtle. Hayley muses about what to do with her hands, as she is not drinking tonight. I then realize I am also not drinking. Mistake #1. Everyone (especially the courageous Dutch) knows the solution to social anxiety is to drink.
I ask Hayley if she wants to talk to anyone. She replies in the negative, and flips the same question back at me. As I ponder her question, I see a girl pass by and I think to myself, “I like her style. I wonder if I could pull off the alternative/hipster look? Maybe if I get a pair of Converses and sport a Fedora?”
Simultaneous to my brain having a moment, my mouth decides to steal the thunder. My mouth (not me, my mouth. Totally separate entities.) blurts out, in normal conversational decibels, “I like her”.
“Her” turns around and looks square at me. She opens her mouth to say something (probably less weird than what I said).
Before I can hear what she is about to say, I do a slight ball-step-change and run out of the room, dragging a confused Hayley behind me.
What could have turned into a funny story we later tell the grand-kids, turned into a sprint to the bar.