An odd title, and certainly something
imagined and mentioned in pretty intense conversations, but hardly an
experience. An experience out of the ordinary - one you or I would never trade
for anything. It’s not about great dates (you've had your fair share of those).
It certainly goes beyond feeling giddy after spending time with that special
someone, rather, it encompasses those and so much more in between. But that’s
just my opinion of what the perfect date should be. I know you have yours stuck
somewhere in your imagination, bringing smiles to your face every time it is
brought to working memory. But I too have an idea of the perfect date; a
picture I’d love to paint if you’d let me.
My
idea of a perfect date? I don’t know. I've never been on a date, and
personally, I’d hate for my wild imagination to create even more fantasies and
expectations than I already have. But it’s so hard to ignore. Seeing myself
picturing every moment that’ll come, wishing the butterflies in my stomach
would just stop fluttering, wishing my heart doesn't grow weak from skipping
multiple beats at the thought of her. Mulling and turning over all sorts of
questions in my head – what would she wear? How would she look? What would I
say when the sight of her takes my breath away? Then I recall that it’s not yet
time for those questions yet. The ones that need immediate answers are the ones
that leave me standing in front of the mirror – what would I wear? How best do
I look? And yes, what would I say when the sight of her takes my breath away?
I’d hardly have the answers to any of those, but as I part my hair to my
ever-confidence-inducing European style, I begin to get the idea that
everything will be just fine.
Unable
to find rest or some peace, I’d occasionally find my left leg tapping
incessantly as the waiter empties his bottle of wine to calm my stray nerves.
“Big date tonight?” he’d ask. “Huge” would be all my lips can utter. Left alone
to my wine glass, I’d find myself wondering why she’s running late, but then
I’d realize she wasn't running late – I had come some thirty minutes earlier to
make sure everything was perfect. And just when I find myself setting up the
table for the umpteenth time, she’d walk in.
She’d
walk in and pause dramatically to search. She’d stand gorgeous and beautiful,
all of the beautiful sights I've seen failing woefully in comparison. She’d stand
graceful and elegant in her red dress, a certain worried look in her eyes which
would make my heart ache. And then she’d see me looking- staring at her. Then
she’d smile, relieved at seeing a familiar face. Maybe, just maybe the waiter
would see that I had cause to worry as much as I did after all, because over
the voice of my head saying “Jerry, don’t screw this up”, I’d hear someone say
“Lucky bastard”.
But
the perfect date wouldn't be about smiling at each other, laughing at each
other’s jokes, talking like we've known each other all our lives, or simply
having the waiter give me a thumbs up when I steal a glance in his direction.
No. I’d know it’s a perfect date if it doesn't matter how it all went. Maybe
the now very intrusive waiter spilled wine on her dress or knocked my head over
with a tray. Maybe the woman at the piano burst out in tears when music reached
her soul. Or my credit card got maxed out and I had to make a quick run to some
ATM a few blocks away. I’d know it was the perfect date when she says “Why
didn't we do this sooner?” or “can we do this again sometime?” of course my
heart would race itself dry at this point, but these’ll all be music to my
ears. And if I don’t go home and dream about dancing in the clouds, on
picturesque mountains and ocean shores, at least I’d close my eyes and say “I
had the perfect date”.
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