Finding 40 Dates: Part Three - The Plunge

I honestly can’t remember the last time I asked a guy on what could reasonably be construed as a date. I’m either the askee, totally oblivious, or just hanging out with friends. So this is definitively uncharted waters for me.

Might explain why I’m super nervous, and why I’ve been in procrastination overdrive all week.

Today my big delay has been because the website with my volleyball schedule has been down and I can’t possibly plan dates if I don’t know when I’m supposed to be playing next week, right? Right.

Must be another sign from the Universe. Can’t ask out boys today.

Phew.

It’s not like we’re dealing with deep-seeded trauma here.

Oh no, not the boner brushoff!



Ok, so in eighth grade I finally plucked up the courage to ask Ryan Jones to dance with me and he said, “No way, I have a boner.” I don’t imagine rejection gets much more awkward than that. But it seems like I haven’t asked a guy out since. If I have, I don’t remember it. But as far as these things go, getting the boner brush-off isn’t really all that bad. It’s far funnier as a hazy memory of junior high school than it felt at the time.

After mulling over trauma, rejection and life, laughing at my junior high self, and then freaking out a bit, I texted Mark.

Mark is a friend’s boyfriend's friend. Obviously. I received his number from my friend with the caveat that he already knew about my Lent resolution and had offered to be my date every day, if necessary. This was mostly scary as opposed to reassuring. Pretty sure she built me up as some sort of goddess. I know absolutely nothing about Mark; I presume he has an abnormal amount of time on his hands and a charitable sense of humour. But it is entirely guesswork.

I texted a stranger and asked him on a date. Weird.

My hands are clammy. Were they like that before? Are they always like this? Why have I never noticed?

Sweet Jesus, this is now totally outside of my control. And best-case scenario, I have to do this 39 more times. That is assuming that no dates fall through or cancel or say “no” or just don’t ever reply and leave me in this strange new limbo with clammy hands.

Oh what fresh hell is this? He has replied to my text.

Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.

I have read his message several times and can’t really understand it. He writes in full sentences though, which is a plus. I presume my reading comprehension is compromised somehow. The gist is that he will check his calendar and get back to me. I think if he had written “No way, I have a boner,” I might have laughed hysterically until I passed out. Is that what I was expecting or afraid of? Not sure.

I think it’s mostly a fear of the unknown. And of being vulnerable.

I can’t believe I am going to have to do this again. Deep breath.