Good Date Part Two

Alright, alright. I get it. You want to hear about the second date.

At the end of first date, we knew that we wanted to see each other again and Harley suggested the next day. Sure. Call me in the morning and we can arrange something.

As soon as I got home, I went to bed and slept like a stone. Gratefully, the panic did not set in until I opened my eyes the next morning. My knee jerk reaction was to somehow find a way to bow out of it gracefully and find something else to do like laundry or ironing. I had the most insane conversation running through my head.

"What is your problem? It was a perfectly pleasant night".

"Yes, but he wants to go out again on a date."

"What else are you going to do? The kids are gone, the Nazi has left you with a clean house and the lawn guy has mowed, weed wacked, trimmed and edged."

**quiet realization that I am a lazy heifer**

"What am I going to wear?"

Just then, the first text message arrived and Harley offered several choices for our entertainment.

-Ride on his motorcycle (I can't go into how many ways this appealed to me without embarrassing myself)

-go to the lake (possibility that swim suit might be required and haven't been using cellulite cream lately so this is not a real option)

-dinner (food is always good and I knew that his idea of dinner would not involve anyone asking, "Would you like fries with that?")

-nine holes of golf (appreciated the golf suggestion but having to velcro the club to my hand to hold on to it was not terribly appealing. Besides, I'm a bit competitive and I'm not at my best with two numb fingers. If I were to be completely honest, numb fingers are only the tip of the iceberg when looking at what is wrong with my golf game.)

We settled on the ride and dinner. In my panic, I did what any girl would have done. I went shopping. There is nothing like retail therapy and on Saturday morning, it came to me in the form of a shoe store in our new mall. Nine pairs of shoes and a set of boots later, I felt much better. Excessive? Maybe but better than drinking myself catatonic.

So I showed up to the date in the perfect motorcycle outfit: black capris, blousy, ultra fem, lower cut top, accessories (Steph would be proud) and the most adorable, impractical black sandals with a two inch heel. Hoochie, goochie, mama.

So we spend a a few hours on the bike winding all through the countryside and we end up at my favourite wine shop in another county because mine is dry (means no alcohol can be purchased. Welcome to the south where you can't drink but you might be able to marry your cousin. Gah!) Anyway, we go inside and he purchases a nice bottle of a pinot noir that is made in his native country and he gives it to me. I'm floored. My ex husband's idea of romance was to give me a pair of shiny, red polyester panties and a leer.

After dinner, we go back to my vehicle and decide that we aren't quite ready for the date to be over. So, we went to the movies. First, we dropped his motorcycle at his house and I made a frantic, high-pitched squealing call to Stephanie while he was parking his ride. I was in full on whack-a do mode. The date was going well and I needed to talk to her to make sure that this wasn't just another vivid Chantix dream. I kept saying, over and over, like a mantra, "He's normal. He's really, really normal. And nice. Sweet even." All of this was said in tones high enough that only a dog would have been able to hear me.

So there you have it. The movie ended, I dropped him off and called it a night. This date was my reward for suffering through Bad Date.

Oh, and we may have snogged a bit at the end of the night.