Thursday, January 24, 2013

The Preparations.

My Big Date is set for Saturday.

   I can honestly say this is the first time... ever... I have actually been excited for a date. Not dreading. Not going forth with resigned acceptance. Not sweating horribly. Genuinely, happily excited.

Is this a result of my Dating Experiment? Did it actually work? Am I cool now?

Well, there's only one thing for certain.

This date can only spell my doom. 


This has two possible outcomes.

One--that I will blurt out something awkward and weird.


"Hi! I'm MeMe. I'm so glad we are finally doing this, it's really nice to able to get together in person. You know, I've dreamed of this moment. Only, you were on the bow of a ship, and I was your frightened, but not unwilling, captive. I think I'm going to order a beer, what are you having?"

Two--that there will be something terrifically wrong with him. 

In the words of the wise Samantha Jones... "Good on paper. Bad in bed."

Among other memorable quotes.
These could include:

Serial Killer
Weird Mickey Mouse Voice
Closeted Gay
All of the Above

There was mild concern he might turn out to be about fifty pounds heavier than his photos, but my friend reminded me that weight can be lost. I'd shell out for a gym membership for this guy. He made a joke about sneaking a flask into "The Hobbit." This is true love.

 Not much I can, do, however, if he Catfished me in general.

Although at this point, if Future Husband turns out to be a fat older woman with twelve cats and a stained mumu, I like her so much I'd say let's combine our pets, put an extra layer of plastic on the sofa, and begin the rest of our lives together. Yes, I really mean that, Erma. Drop the robe. Mama's home.

With the countdown to my Big Date on, the frantic preparations begin. How many trips to the gym can I physically squeeze in by Saturday? How many teeth-whitening treatments can I really apply before my gums turn black and my molars fall out? How rapidly could I recover from a minor nose job and eyebrow lift, like... what level of bruising are we talking, here? Can I cover it up with theater make-up?
And, my God, what can I wear that somehow hides my flaws, accentuates my strong points (boobs), flatters my coloring, and gives the impression that I am clever, fun, classy, sexy, and really good company on a couple's cruise?

But also makes him want me to meet his mother.


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