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Blogs by Sandy Knauer
And Not So Great First Dates
6/25/2006 4:18:17 PM
Mike slept on my couch for a few months, sometime between my first and second marriages. He came with Tommy and Celia, all of them down on their luck, and left when Tommy and Celia had saved enough to get a place of their own and I insisted they take Mike with them. He was a nice enough, but I wanted my home back.
Months later, he called to tell me he had a great job, a place of his own, was doing well, and would like to take me out. Until he came to pick me up, and I sensed the difference in his demeanor, I wasn’t sure if he considered this a date or payment for the time when I had put a roof over his head and food in his stomach. It was date.
We shooed flies off our fish sandwiches at the outdoor restaurant on the river. Afterwards, we walked along the mosquito-infested bank, his choice, but fine with me since I don’t wear fragrances and the little buggers don’t like my dry skin anyway. They buzzed right past me, swarmed his cologne-drenched face, and chewed a couple layers off his legs.
He danced and swatted; I giggled. He decided we would have more fun if we joined his friends in a bar across town, far from the river. I agreed.
His friends seemed to like me okay, except for the girl in the corner who refused to look up when he introduced me. Later, I noticed she never did look up from the table, and had a hard time concentrating on my foosball game for worrying about her. (I failed to mention in my story about good dates that a quarter would have entertained me all night on foosball or pinball.)
The sad girl blew my game. When I asked about her, he finally told me he had dated her from the time he left my house until the week before this date. He hadn’t expected her to be there and felt sad for her. It was our first date; my investment in the evening wasn’t worth her pain. He thanked me and took me home. Later, he married her.
Fifteen years, several jobs, and a few relationships later, I ran into Mike again. While catching up, we discovered we were both single again. Considering the ten-year rule that erases everything, we decided to go on another first date.
I drove, because I was the non-drinker and I needed to drop my daughter at my aunt’s house. On the way there, she choked on a piece of candy, vomited on her clothes and the car seat, and I had to stop to get rags from the trunk and clean up. Unfortunately, he wasn’t wearing the cologne this time. The car reeked, but he was a good sport about it.
My aunt had guests, mostly people who had never met Mike and wanted to talk. I left him on his own with them while we found something in the closet to replace my daughter’s smelly clothes. I returned to the room, answered the ringing phone in my purse, and received news that a close friend was in the emergency room, in cardiac arrest.
Because he is a nice guy, or was afraid of staying with my family, Mike accepted the change in plans with poise. I offered to take him back to his car but he wanted to stay with me. Since the hospital was in another state, I was glad to have my smelly car so I would maintain control over the gas pedal.
I slowed down but didn’t come to a complete stop at the corner. When he looked over at the speedometer a short time later, I explained. Charlie wasn’t young and this wasn’t his first heart attack. This could be the last time I saw him, and I wanted him to be alive when I got there. No problem, Mike understood and sympathized.
As I passed the last quick-stop shop before
getting on the Interstate, Mike asked if I would mind pulling in. Mindful of the earlier disaster in the back seat, I obliged without question. He hopped out of the car, rushed into the store, and returned with a beer in each hand, to help him get through this.
We made it, Charlie with good doctors and lots of hugs, Mike with his two beers, and I with a couple of cigarettes and a lot of patience.
While sensitive to the date aspect of this outing, Mike’s aggressive pursuit of new friends in the intensive care waiting room tested my limits. His request to stop for more beer on the way home cinched the end of our dating relationship. But he makes a great friend.
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