When our friend Herman asked how the meet-up went, Kevin
told them that all I talked about was volleyball (a very believable
exaggeration) and that I’d mocked his obsession with CrossFit (which I had, but
it was apparently not a total deal-breaker). We didn't tell them that we had been on a second date, for obvious reasons. When they were planning their
dinner, Kevin mentioned that he would be bringing a guest – someone he’d met at
the gym – but did not give them any particulars. That way there was enough food
for everyone, and the supplies were divvied up appropriately.
 |
| My cheese shelf |
It was my job to bring cream cheese and tomato sauce.
This was fortunate because I happened to have a ridiculously massive block of
cream cheese in my fridge that I needed to use up. I wasn’t really sure if I
should bring anything else like wine or a host gift, or what the attire would
be, or, well, anything. But I didn’t really have time to worry about it anyway.
One unexpected virtue of this hectic dating schedule and being wholly and
totally out of my depth is that I don’t have as much time to perseverate and
overthink everything. But it also does not let me prepare as fully as I
normally would. In retrospect, I should have brought at least a bottle of wine.
Sigh.
I arrived at my friends’ house; traffic had slowed me
down, but I was maybe a minute late. I walked in with a devious grin on my face
and my friend Herman announced “Surprise!” They hadn't suspected a thing. Kevin gave me a hug, and
congratulated me on a well-executed scheme. We laughed along with everyone and
caught up on stories while also discussing how to prepare our fabulous three course
meal.
As a team sport, cooking is quite fun. Although I don’t
think I contributed all that much. I was not very familiar with Herman and
Rhoda’s kitchen, so I helped out with whatever I could find and tried not to
get in anyone’s way.
 |
| Some say too many cooks spoil the broth. We say, "Aw, fiddlesticks!" to them. |
The theme for the night was boats. We made little
appetizer boats by filling dates with cream cheese and bacon bits, and
garnishing them with a jalapeño (I didn’t count, but I’m pretty sure that there
were at least 40 dates, which is fitting). The entrée was zucchini boats filled
with chopped and fried zucchini flesh, ground beef, a hefty amount of garlic,
and tomato sauce, smothered with cheese and baked. For dessert, we had tortilla
boats with a cream cheese mix, peaches and whipped cream, and – wait for it –
port. Because of boats! Ha!
I actually ate everything, thereby staving off scurvy for
yet another fortnight. We must have talked too much or taken too long,
or something because by the time we were done dessert, it was late and there
was (Gasp!) still food leftover. Thus far in the history of their dinner
adventures, there had never been leftovers. I think I must have let the team
down somehow.
It was a bit odd, dating with an audience. At one point
Herman whispered, “I think it’s going well!” Theatrically and audibly. I
laughed, and we talked about dating. It occurred to me that Kevin might not
appreciate me telling our friends about our dates, or he might not be particularly
interested in hearing about my other dates, so I tried not to get too carried
away with stories.
 |
| My poppycock cheesecake: Worth it. |
Henry was the first to leave; he’d overdone it with the
dates (Preach!) and was lamenting the fullness of his belly. I packed up my
leftover cream cheese (not sure if it was rude to take the extras home, but I
had begun to concoct plans of the cheesecake variety, and it might be just as
rude to leave 5lbs of cream cheese at somebody’s house, though I would totally
love it) and said goodnight and thanks. Probably should have stayed to help do
the dishes, but I could feel the crash of a food coma approaching and needed to
get home. So, basically I am the worst dinner guest ever.
Kevin and I left together and we walked to our cars,
which were parked parallel on opposite sides of the street. This time when he
went in for a kiss, I was a little more prepared. It was only slightly less uncomfortable
than last time, even though anticipation was on my side, because we were
standing in the middle of the street, in front of our friends’ house. After a
moment, I didn’t mind. Then I did my usual panic and disappear thing.
“Ok, bye!”
 |
| Don't worry, nobody's watching |
When I was in Junior High and struggled to come to grips
with how to interact with the brave new world of other people and all of their
myriad oddities, my well-meaning parents told me I would eventually grow out of
my awkward phase. I suspect they overestimated me. Foolish mortals! Never underestimate
the depthless well of gracelessness and discomfort that I have to draw upon. I
could overthink two ships passing in the night, and somehow find it embarrassing.
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