Such an adventure! And in the beginning? An adventure entirely full of very important “firsts.”
If you’ve made the (
dreadful?) ( last resort?) ( scary?) brave decision to try online dating (good for you, pumpkin!) you get to experience a slew of firsts with any number of people in rapid fire.
First time being matched up online. First email. First time exchanging numbers. And, if all seems to be at least semi-normal, first time meeting someone.
From there, things get more selective and the pack thins out. There’s a first kiss, first time talking about the first kiss with your girlfriends, and down the road a few, uh, more intimate firsts (mom, if you’re reading this I’m totally talking about sharing secrets and not at all about anything to do with making out) (Jesus, I hope she never finds this blog). But there’s one very important one that often gets completely overlooked by gentlemen, and is completely nerve-wracking to us women.
The first time a guy comes over to your house to watch television and hang out while you are in pajamas.
Ladies, I know y’all are nodding your heads right now. But gentlemen? Allow me to explain.
Up until this point, we’ve met you out dressed up, made up, hair all done up. We’ve been on our best behavior at restaurants (I still stand by my decision to use my fingers vs. a fork to eat calamari – it’s fried food for crying out loud!).
But then, all of a sudden you’re emailing some dude you’ve stayed up way too late with the night before, saying if he doesn’t mind seeing you in pajamas and glasses he can totally come over and watch t.v. with you. And he says “sure!” And you have to somehow pull of “casual” yet “attractive” all at the same time.
Then it’s five o’clock, you’re leaving work, and realize you have no cute-and-flattering-but-not-obviously-sexy pajamas. My dear pumpkins, you realize that you own baggy sweat pants and ratty t-shirts and if you are wearing that when said dude shows up, you may as well overbook your DVR because you’re going to hanging out on your couch alone a lot more often.
But wait! There’s a remedy! Old Navy is on the way home! And pretty soon what was supposed to be a quick stop turns into a half an hour errand-turned-fashion-show in the dressing rooms before the perfect pajama “outfit” has been selected.
And then it’s six o’clock, you realized you mentioned wine and since you never grocery shop there is no such thing at your house and a trip at the grocery store is in order. And what was supposed to be a five-minute stop turns into a 20 minute errand-turned-connoisseur-attempt.
And then it’s seven fucking o’clock, he’s supposed to be over in exactly one half hour, and you have just enough time to refresh your makeup, cut the tags off your pajamas, open the wine, and manage to look relaxed and refreshed.
But upon walking into your apartment, you realize while you were out running essential errands, your dog has shit all over himself. And it’s totally your fault.
And it’s not just a normal accident. Dog shit. Is. EVERYWHERE. All over the crate. His fur. His face. ALL OVER THE FUCKING WALLS AND CABINET NEXT TO HIS CRATE. Essentially, dear Hunter managed to have the most epic accident of his life and must have decided to perform a tap dance show in it to celebrate the event, followed up with a full body roll while it was still in liquid form.
And then it’s seven-fif-fucking-teen, you’re bathing your shit dog, scrubbing the walls, the cabinet, the dog crate, and the bathtub won’t drain.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
SEVEN TWENTY FUCKING FIVE. The tub finally drains, you manage to fit in a quick shower, refresh your make-up, cut the tags off your new “outfit,” open the wine, turn on the t.v., and take a deep breath just as the bell rings to start your low-key relaxed evening.
And then pack the same exact “pajama outfit” when he takes you on a trip to Seattle, secretly laughing about how he has no idea about that particular first event and the effort that went into it.