After all the pissing and moaning I've been doing about being single, you think I'd be thrilled to have a date tonight. Truth is, I feel like hurfing, cancelling the thing and obtaining enough astronaut diapers to get me through a high-speed car trip out of the country. What the hell is wrong with me?
I mean, the guy seems really nice. But I'm worried he'll get uneasy when my nerves cause me to react in all kinds of off-putting ways. Despite all my efforts to remain cool and collected, one or more of the following usually occurs on a first date:
1. Debilitating gas pain. This is almost a given. Five minutes before I meet the person, my pancreas, spleen and both intestines get in some sort of West Side Story rumble. And they're all definitely packing box cutters and switchblades.
2. Uncontrollable perspiration. I could be wearing pasties and meeting my date in the middle of an ice rink and I will still be sweating like Britney Spears at a drug test.
3. An inexplicable, temporary speech impediment accompanied by nonsensical segues. "Tho where did choo go to high school? Really? I luv cheez, don you?"
4. Complete loss of motor skills. Don't ask me how it happens, but five minutes into the date I'm spilling food and drinks all over myself. It would be like inviting this guy to dinner, without the drunkenness and homelessness, of course.
5. Apocalyptic, Exorcist-like vomiting. 'Nuff said.
Soooooo, now you understand my slight hesitation (read: absolute dread) about this evening. It's nothing against the guy, mind you. He seems like a perfectly nice, normal person. Of course, after tonight, he will likely need years of therapy.
Wish me luck.
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