This Would Be The Ideal First Date

Daryn Bartlett

You take me to this small restaurant that seems to have not been touched by the hands of time; preserving its own, divine, rustic beauty amidst the glimmer of the ever buzzing city. We would order their home-brew, which you swear to be the best one you’ve ever tasted. We ask for today’s special, and they give us two plates of succulent chicken steak with a side of mashed potato, but due to our big appetite, we order a seafood platter as a side.

The home band is playing, and the song reminds you of something that happened at some point in your life, and you tell me how you cherish it. The conversations flow, and by the end of the night and our fourth glass of beer, you’ve already found out my embarrassing childhood nickname and I’ve found out your secret talent you use as tricks in your high school parties.

We stay until the closing time, and when the waiter politely asks us if they can remove the empty plates of our second seafood platter without asking is there anything else he can help us with, that’s when we realise that we should probably head home.

I’m about to order the taxi when you suggest that we should just walk since my place is only two miles away; the night is too beautiful to be wasted coffined in a small taxi anyway. I look up and see that you’re right; no dark clouds in sight, the half-moon shines bright, and the stars, though dim, are keen to share the sky.

We laugh, we talk, and we feel the night breeze as we walk. Maybe it is the beer that makes me forget that I am wearing a pair of heels, and it starts to hurt. I take it off and you tease my neanderthal move, so I offer you to carry me home if not so. You shrug and you swipe me off my feet, but I scream so loud until you put me back down again.

It takes us 45 minutes for what’s supposed to only be 30 minutes walk, cause you have to stop to pet the stray dog that we encounter along the way. The dog run away and you try to chase it, but when you counter him, he starts to fight you and takes turn chasing you back. You take a right turn when you’re supposed to be turning left, and I can’t follow you cause I’m too busy laughing my ass off on the intersection. You come back 10 minutes later with sweat dripping off your forehead, and face as red as the shrimp we eat earlier. The other 5 minutes detour is because I still can’t stop laughing to the point I’m leaning on to the street lamp.

We finally made it to my place, and it’s past midnight. We tell each other it was the first time that we have went on a date quite like this, and we make sure that it won’t be our last one. I want to tell you to stay, but I know that you have an early morning plan that you can not miss and you have to get a sleep to stay sharp for it; something we know we won’t be doing if you stay the night. So you call on a taxi and get on it as you wish me goodnight, and when I am back in my room alone, I’ll be wondering whether I should text you to further convince you that it is the best night I’ve ever had. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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