The inner monologue of my insecure mind when I agreed to go on a date with a major league, professional baseball player in my prominent city.
I don’t understand cars or really care, but if I had to guess, I would say this one looks pretty fancy. Although it’s white, and aren’t guys who drive white sport cars supposed to be conceited? It’s a pretty douchey car to drive. But then again, I’m a pretty terrible person to be judging someone because of their car. But, I mean really, what is he trying to compensate for with this oh-so-ostentatious vehicle? Yes, I’m using big words like ostentatious in my mind, I am an English major after all. Ok, he’s getting out, I’ve got to act normal, who cares if it’s a BMW or Jaguar or Panther or Mountain Lion or whatever expensive car name it is. I go in fancy cars all the time. Right? Wrong. But he doesn’t need to know that. Or that you never go on lavish dates or that your high school boyfriend who spent time in jail took you on your first date to 7-11. Act normal. Be calm.
“Ready?”
I smile up at his tall stature and say yes.
Oh damn, maybe I was a little too eager there, should I have played it cool? Like, “yeah, whatever, I guess I’m ready Mr. Pro Athlete, I have a hockey player picking me up later so I’m not that excited about you.” No, that’s not true, God, Rebecca, don’t start off this date with a lie. Do I bring up the fact that minutes prior to this date all my roommates were asking if they could get free tickets to his games? Hell, I wonder if he can get me season tickets. I wonder if it’s weird that I have his name on the back of a t-shirt? Better not tell him that, or mention anything about tickets, I wouldn’t want him to think he’s dating a “fan.” Maybe I should pretend I know nothing about baseball and that I don’t have the entire dialogue of The Sandlot memorized, or that I stalked, I mean glanced at, his bio on the team’s webpage.
*rap music blares from the radio and I stare at it*
“Not a rap fan, huh?”
No dude, I absolutely love when songs say “pussy pussy pussy” as I’m on a first date with a guy; talk about uncomfortable.
“Sorry not really.”
He’s so tall, I mean how does he even fit into this little sports car? And since he’s a right handed pitcher I wonder if he’s way more muscly on that side of his torso. He probably walks off balance because his un-proportioned right side weighs him down.
*He goes to change the radio station and asks what I would like to listen to*
He changed the channel, how sweet! That is compromise right there, this will be so great when we move in together and I ask him for the bigger side of the closet. God, I’m a psycho, this guy isn’t even that great, stop thinking about the future.
We approach the restaurant’s door and he enters first, not bothering to hold open the door or allow me to walk in before him.
Seriously…you aren’t gonna hold the door open for me? Where the hell are you from? Why would you not be a gentleman on the first date and hold open my door. It was bad enough you didn’t open it for me when I got in or out of your car, but the restaurant door, you just let it shut in my face! Okay, I guess you’re used to models throwing themselves at you and maybe you have been living this life of luxury for so long that you forgot your manners. Then again… maybe you were trying to do me a favor because you’re a feminist and don’t want to offend me by letting me think I need a man to open a door for me.
“You look beautiful.”
Oh my God, he said I’m pretty. No, he said I’m beautiful! I can’t remember the last time someone other than my mom called me pretty. This rich, attractive, athletic man just called plain, old me beautiful. I have changed my mind, I don’t care if he didn’t hold open my car door or the restaurant door, hell I’ll pay for the meal. I’m fine with him simply paying me in compliments. And the way his blue eyes look against that tan skin of his and how his eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled, I’m melting. Wait, he’s gonna think I’m insecure if I act shocked, no, I need to pretend that it’s totally natural to be complimented, as if I get called pretty all the time.
I seriously need to calm down and stop getting my hopes up, lets search for some flaws on this beautiful greek god stature of a man. Well, honestly, he is a little too tan now that I really look at him. He must not wear sunscreen when he plays. I hope he doesn’t get a skin disease from being outside for a living. In fact, the way his eyes crinkled as he smiled which I adored earlier, is on second glance, quite terrifying because he is only 26, why do his eyes have so many wrinkles? He should definitely get his skin tested.
*I reply to his compliment of “you look beautiful” as we sit across from one another in a booth*
“Oh thanks, I just got off work.”
Like hell I did. I definitely did not just get off work. I actually spent extra time getting ready tonight so I would look like I didn’t spend time getting ready. I don’t think guys realize how difficult it is to pull off the “natural look.” There is a fine line between just woke up and just woke up with mascara and concealer on.
Damn, why did I suggest we go to this restaurant? It’s better than 7-11, but it’s kind of a dive. Oh yea, I remember why I suggested it, it’s because I’m a cool low-maintenance girl; burgers and beer totally describe my lifestyle. I’m so chill.
What do I order? I really want a salad but I don’t want him to think I’m one of those girls who doesn’t eat, I’m going to have to get a burger…but I don’t really like burgers.
“Hi what can I get you?”
Shit, go away waiter, I’m having an internal crisis over here. I’ll stare at my menu so he has to answer first. Okay he’s getting a burger and beer, now I have to get a burger, dammit.
“I’ll be right back with those drinks”
Alright now it’s just us two. No menus or music to distract us…what the hell do we talk about? Baseball? But if I remember correctly most people hate talking about work, but is that work for him? It shouldn’t be, he’s super lucky that he has that job, most people work nine to five jobs and the rest of the country is unemployed, he’s such a jerk if he complains about his job.
“Yea I go to Georgia next week”
Okay he doesn’t seem like he’s complaining and my vast knowledge of baseball seems to impress him, obviously, I was the 10 and under softball champion after-all, I could school him in this sport. To be honest, he’s been sucking hardcore lately, do I mention how it’s completely obvious when he is going to throw a curveball every. damn. time.? That’d be really rude of me to mention, but someone once told me that guys like bitchy girls. But how could that actually be true because isn’t kindness the best way to attract someone? I’m gonna just give up and drink some more. Blue moon will give me the answers.
Our date continues for three and a half hours. We’re practically kicked out of the humble restaurant as our seven o’ clock date ends around eleven thirty. The waiters clank dishes as they clean up and we peer around to realize we’re the only ones left in the restaurant. He grabs my hand after paying the check and we walk back to his car.
I don’t even find it weird that we’re still sitting here. He sure as hell aint coming into my house, but I don’t want to leave the car either because I don’t want the night to end. Do I kiss him? Do I wait for him to make the move? I’ll just keep talking. I actually have no idea what I’m even saying, I’m just rambling and …oh God I can’t stop looking into those gorgeous eyes. Am I blushing? That’s embarrassing I should just——
*he leans across the seat, grabs the back of my head and kisses me*
Holy Hell, that was the greatest kiss of my life. Stop smiling, you probably look like a lunatic who just escaped from the asylum. But my God, that kiss, not even a kiss, a man kiss, a proper man kiss, I never been kissed by a man before. That was the most intense kiss of my life, I think I got pregnant from that kiss. Get out of the car, don’t ruin it with your awkward silence. Thankfully he’s smiling too, so he must have enjoyed it. I wonder if he’s staring at my ass as I walk. Don’t turn and wave from your porch, that’s so weird…but I wanna know if he’s still there. It’s sweet if he waited in his car before speeding away to be sure I got in safe. But, whatever you do, don’t be an idiot and turn around and wave or some shit.
*I turn around like an idiot before opening my front door and wave or some shit.* 
