Beyond this point there be dragons.
Old maps of the Atlantic Ocean, before the discovery of the West Indies.
That's right Gentle Readers. Uncle Iago just had another First Date. I think.
Okay. The truth is, I won't know if it was a First Date or not for a while. If something comes of it -- if we actually begin 'Seeing' each other -- then I'll know it was a First Date. But if she gives me the 'let's just be friends' speech (by the way I hate that friggin' speech) then I'll know it was just a daliance. Still, having been on close to one hundred of these First Dates (boy do I ever wish that was an exaggeration) I think I'm fairly qualified to discuss the event.
First of all I love the First Date. There are very few women who can't be 'perfect' for a single evening. None of the flaws come out. She can hide the fact that she's hung up on her father or that she's married or that she's frightened of dogs or that she's just a lousy conversationalist or that she's a wanted for questioning in three states. When a woman can't hide one or more of these facts for a duration of three hours this is called 'The Bad First Date.'
This was not a Bad First Date. She has been able to maintain the illusion of perfection for an afternoon and two phone calls . . . which is actually pretty good. 80% of them begin to lose it after the second phone call. The second phone call is generally when the Lower Voice says to me "Ignore what she just said . . . it was a fluke. She's really not that stupid/ignorant/psychotic. Remember the knobs . . . remember the knobs . . . "
Another important part about the First Date: you're still perfect, too. I can refrain from mentioning the fact that I feel child molesters should be euthanized no matter how repentent they are. I can hide the fact that I've been kicked around the block a few times. There's no need for her to know that just three more First Dates and I qualify for the Serial Dater lettermen's jacket. As far as she knows I'm just this funny guy who's buying her dinner and sees no flaws in her . . . which is really all the information she needs for as long as possible.
This time I'm going to do things differently. I'm not going to sleep with her right away like I always-always-always do. I'm going to wait until I'm sure there's something there for us to 'make.' We're not going to 'make' sex. This time I'm holding off until I'm certain that it's Love.
Or until she says 'Yes.' Either will do.
I'm not sure what the next Truth will be but I think I have a few possibilities:
The Truth for the Day: Life is a bowl full of cherries. However, they're soaking in vinegar and someone dumped in a bunch of razor blades. Reach in if you like . . . just make sure you know where to find some Bactine first.
We're going through the Looking Glass, people.